


Remember Me When the Rainbow Falls...

by apple9131999



Series: The States of America [22]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 9/11 Referenced, Afghanistan War Referenced, Agender Character, American Revolution, Amnesia, Aromantic Character(s), Asexual Character, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, Gen, Hetalia States, Historical Hetalia, Mostly Connecticut centric, Native American Tribes mentioned, Non-Graphic Violence, Original Character(s), Pearl Harbor Referenced, Sandy Hook Referenced, TW: Boston Marathon, Time Travel, Very New England centric, ptsd characters, transgender character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 17:02:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 39,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3297806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apple9131999/pseuds/apple9131999
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the War of Independence and the mess that was the Articles of Confederation, America realized a great truth. The world outside was always searching for a weak link, a slip in the armor of a nation for them to seize and control. He couldn't let that happen to his states. So he, with help from a reluctant Native America, cast a spell over all the world so they would forget that the United States of America had more than one representative. Even England, who had raised many of the states since they were colonies, could not remember them.</p><p>It was for the best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Askaskwii

**Author's Note:**

> Hetalia belongs to Hidekazu Himaruya. The states' are my oc's.

The only thing odd about the marathon this year, Owen was thinking as he reached the 40k marker, was that Sam wasn't ahead of him, mocking him and bragging about how fit they were thanks to all of their lacrosse playing.

Instead, Owen was running with Vicky, Sarah, and Taylor. Vicky had passed the three of them around the 20k marker, and Sarah had pulled ahead as Owen and Taylor faltered on Heartbreak Hill. And now Taylor was a few dozen steps ahead of him.

If Sam were running next to him, they'd laugh at Owen for losing to their younger sisters, regardless of the fact that they'd be losing too. But Sam was waiting with Zach at the finish line, and the sooner Owen got there, the sooner Sam would drag him away to eat at some restaurant in Old Boston.

But then something went wrong.

A searing pain engulfed his chest, just as he entered Boston. He fell to his knees, mouth flying open in a horrible effort to bring oxygen into his burning lungs. He screamed as another wave of the pain crashed into him, echoing with the sounds of those at the finish line as the second bomb went off.

Cold hands pushed at his face and body, rolling him over so that he was on his back. He was still gasping and if he squinted he could just make out the silhouette of Taylor, leaning over him, her long ponytail falling over her shoulder. She was shouting at him, but she must have been speaking an indigenous language because he couldn't understand her. She was going through his pockets. He slid his eyes shut for a second, but jerked them back open when she slapped his cheek. She had his phone in hand and was talking into it really fast. She had her other hand on his wrist, gauging his heartbeat.

It was getting harder to breathe, but Taylor, once she was finished on with her call, grabbed his shoulders and hefted him to his feet, letting him lean heavily on herself. He struggled to walk properly, but in the end Taylor was more or less dragging him to the sidewalk and out of the street.

There was so much noise and confusion in the air around where Owen now lay. He didn't understand what was happening or why. The darkness behind his eyes was silent and understandable

~*~

It was terribly rude for America to accept a call in the middle of his presentation. Obviously the fool had never learned proper etiquette.

England huffed and crossed his arms tighter around himself. Well this was a waste of time. The conversation itself wasn't making any sense, for America did not speak much, just listened. And just before he hung up, the blood drained from his face and he said very curtly, "I'll be right there. Don't move."

He put his phone away and faced the group of nations assembled in the UN assembly in Manhattan. He looked lost, completely lost for words and unsure of himself. England immediately sat up straighter. Before anyone could get in a word past their shock over America's face, Canada stood up and walked over to his brother.

Canada opened his mouth, but America shook his head. "I know."

"What happened?"

America glared down at the table. "Boston was bombed. I-"

Canada took a deep breath. "Okay. Who was at the marathon today?"

America's mouth moved soundlessly for a second, almost as if the words were bringing him immeasurable pain. "All of New England."

"Who called you?"

"Taylor; she was with Owen and he just collapsed. Sarah and Victoria were ahead of them- she thinks that Victoria must have finished. Sam and Zach were waiting at the finish line. Sam's got that ankle all bunged up-"

"That's not what has you so worked up," Canada softly interjected, peering into his brother's cloudy blue eyes which he kept angled away.

America looked at his brother over the rim of his glasses. "She called me dad," he said, his breathing shuddering out along with his sentence. "'Dad please, I don't know what to do'. She hasn't called me dad since I found her in Rye, Odiorne Point."

"Does your boss know?" Canada asked.

America slumped over the table. "I don't know. Matt- I need to be there for them."

"You have a nation to care for too," Canada reminded him gently. When America jerked up, Canada held up a hand. "I know, I know, Vicky and Sam are your babies. But they're almost 400 years old, they can function without you having to rush to their rescue.

"Call your president or Congress or whomever you need to call," Canada said, a hand on America's shoulder.

"What is going on?" England snapped from his seat.

The two looked over at him, as though they had forgotten that they were in public. America looked at him once, and turned away, hands running through his hair. Canada smiled slightly and raised one finger. He turned back to his brother, fishing in his pockets for his phone.

"You call your president, call Tom-"

America turned to Canada. "Why am I calling Tom?" he asked as he dialed his president's cell phone.

"Because you need someone to take over for you, and I don't think that Chloё can get here that fast. I'll call Nathan and have him come down here and help Tom out, okay?"

"I don't want Tom to be dragged into this," America hissed. "Dammit voicemail." He hung up.

Canada rolled his eyes as he fiddled with his phone before raising it to his ear. "I don't want to involve Nathan either, but I don't trust- think I meant think- don't think that Tom will be okay here by himself. Especially once he finds out what happened to New England."

"What will he do?" America asked, mocking his brother's knowledge of Tom's behavior as he called the latter.

"He will either flip his shit or go into catatonic shock," Canada said before turning away slightly. "J'ai besoin de vous pour venir à New York dès que possible. Il y a eu un acident et nous avons besoin de vous et Tom à remplir pour nous."

America rolled his eyes at his brother and turned to the countries. "I'm sorry for the interruption. But..." he hesitated, not sure how to word it. England sat forward and he and France exchanged confused and slightly concerned looks. "Ahem...uh one of my cities was bombed and I need to be there. Canada and I are going to the city; we're contacting representatives to-"

"Representatives?" was hissed cruelly from the front doors of the conference hall. A dark haired boy, one lone curl flying out at the base of his neck, with angry faded turquoise eyes that glared at America, stood in the door with one other. He wore a red turtleneck, a black windbreaker, dark skinny jeans, and high tops. He had a pair of headphones around his neck. The second boy had dark brown hair tied up in a ponytail, a red bindi in the middle of his forehead, and bright hazel eyes. He wore a pressed white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had brown slacks on with red suspenders. Where the first boy was clearly irritated, verging on furious, the second boy was relaxed and a little expectant. "I'm a _representative_?"

America cringed from where he stood. "Tom!" he cried, trying to feign happiness. "I was just about to call you."

"When are we going?" the first boy asked as he marched over to America's side. The second boy smiled cheekily at the nations before doing a double check. His smile dropped off his face.

America laughed tersely. "What do you mean, Tom?"

Tom stared at him and then glanced over his shoulder as his companion. He glared back at America. "I know you know that Boston was bombed."

"Tom-"

"We have to go help them. Owen's probably-"

"Tom-"

"-in a lot of pain right now, and Sarah, Taylor, and Victoria were running with him-" "

Thomas," America insisted.

Tom stared at America. "What?"

"Can we talk about this in the hallway, please?" America asked tensely. Tom obviously didn't understand why, but he allowed America to escort him out of the conference room.

The other boy approached Canada once America and Tom were gone. "How're you, Ottawa?" There was a distinct lilt to his voice, different from the accent in Tom's voice, but very similar.

Canada nodded softly. "Good. And you? Did you make sure he didn't completely destroy anything on his way here?"

The boy tilted his head. "Well, a certain vase a couple gave me in the 80's will never be the same, but," the boy shrugged, "I never really was a fan of pottery. That's more Ella's speed."

England frowned. The boy couldn't be more than a few years out of high school. How did he receive a vase in the 80's? "Who are you?"

The boy turned his attention to England, the easy smile he had with Canada wiped away from his face. "I'm-"

Canada coughed into his fist. "Policy 17nk87os."

Policy....?

The boy rolled his eyes. "As I was saying my name is Aidan Jones. I'm the son of the governor of New Jersey. My companion is my cousin, Thomas Jones, the son of the governor of New York."

"How old are you?" England asked.

Aidan rolled his shoulders. "I'm eighteen." England was really confused. And besides, how many Americans had the last name of Jones, exactly?

"Why did America call you?" he asked suspiciously.

Aidan paused. "Um..."

"That's my own private business, England," America said curtly as he entered again with Tom behind him. Tom's cheeks were red, his eyes rimmed with pink.

America stood next to Aidan, a hand on his shoulder. "You've introduced yourself to them, yeah?"

Aidan nodded.

"Okay," America said and then leaned in and conveyed some secret message as quietly as he could. When he was finished, he looked at Canada. Canada nodded to him. America flashed a smile at the assembled nations before leaving with his brother.

Rather rapidly, England mused.

It took him less than a minute to make up his mind that he was not letting America get away that easily. One quick glance at France made it clear that they were on the same page. France leered at him before standing and sauntering out of the room, England on his heels.

~*~

Victoria was scared. There was chaos surrounding her. Someone was screaming as though their body were being burned away. In between the screams, there was a horrifying noise that sounded as though that same person were trying to hack up a lung and, at the same time, trying to breathe.

There were shadows above her, talking, shouting, whispering, crying, laughing, Victoria didn't know anymore. They were reaching for her. Her eyes slid shut, but flew open as the worst scream yet hit her ears.

The people were lifting her up and setting her into a stretcher, carrying her away from her place on the busted up rocks. But the noises followed her.

It was only when she was placed on a bed in an ambulance, just before her eyes shut, that she realized she was where the sounds were coming from.

~*~

Canada wanted to smash his head into the nearest surface after he heard France and England catch up to them.

Oh great, he thought bitterly, here comes a fight.

America, probably thinking it was Aidan or Tom, turned around at the first sound of running feet. When he saw who it was, he turned right back around and marched on faster. Canada followed him, watching with great apprehension as America ignored England. France was quiet, almost as if he was also assessing the situation, trying to see what exactly was up with America. It was a face he most commonly had around Canada.

England grabbed America's hand just as the latter was almost to the front doors of the building.

America tensed up considerably, but did not do anything other than snap, "Let go of me."

England didn't. "I want answers. If you think I'm going to let you go that easy then you have another thing coming for you."

America really tensed up, his eyes taking on the light they had when they were in Afghanistan, the night his men stormed the safe house of Osama bin Laden.

Well  _pute_.

"England," Canada piped up, "I think you sho-"

"Let go of me," America repeated, obviously taking care not to punch England in the face. He wrenched his arm out of his hold though.

England gave him a weird look, but took a step back.

America turned around. "What?" he all but snarled. "And keep this short."

Canada had to hand it to America; he was obviously worried, out for blood, and stressed out of his mind, but nothing was broken. He was doing better than Tom.

"Who were those people?" England asked.

"Ask them yourself," he snapped. "They'll be happy to answer you."

Canada sighed. "They're the children of the governors or New Jersey and New York."

England pointed back up the stairs. "That boy -what's his name?- Aidan, said that he got a vase from a couple in the 1980s. He then said he was eighteen. You," he said pointing at Canada, "also mentioned something about someone being almost 400 years old. That's not an average life span for a human. I would like to know what the hell is going on right now."

America looked ready to pounce, whether on England or Canada, the latter really couldn't tell. "It's none of your fucking business." He turned to storm out of the building, but Canada stopped him, a firm hand yanking him back by his shoulder.

"Alfred, please think for a moment," he whispered. America glanced at him, still angry, but willing to listen at least for now. "There are six of them, yes?" America nodded. "We know that Owen's down. We know that Taylor is up and able. We don't know where the other four are or if they're up. We don't have to tell them anything, but don't you think it'd be better if we had at least a two more eyes?"

America pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine. Fine! _Fine_ ," he growled. "I'm going to get a cab."

"We going to JFK?" Canada asked as his brother pushed the doors open.

America snorted. "Oh hell no. We're going to LaGuardia. Breif them in thirty seconds."

Canada turned around and smiled sheepishly at England and France. England was frowning, irritated at having his questions be so easily dismissed, but intelligent enough to know that America was one word away from kicking his ass back across the ocean. France still had his earlier expression woven across his face.

Canada cleared his throat and all attention was on him. "There were two bombs that went off in Boston. America had some people who are important to him in the race to Boston, but we can't contact them. We're heading there now to try and find them. We would like your help finding them, if you do not mind. Afterwards, America might answer any questions you have."

France smiled at Canada. "Of couse we will help Amérique. How are we getting to Boston?"

Canada shrugged lightly. "I think we're taking an airplane. But it is America we're talking about. He always has a trick up his sleeve."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: Green (In the Western World, green can symbolize misfortune, and in the Eastern World, it symbolizes family) - Delaware Munsee language other colors here: http://www.native-languages.org/munsee_colors.htm


	2. Sukáyuw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, there's two characters who are blatantly non-cisgender:
> 
> -Zachary, a transgender female to male who uses zie/zir pronouns
> 
> -Sam, who is agender, but has a masculine wardrobe and uses they/them pronouns (all of the grammar with Sam's pronouns is correct as a recent change in the English language provides the option of singular 'they')
> 
> Also trigger warning for non-graphic description of aftermath, 9/11 mentioned in passing, panic attacks, and ptsd attacks.

Sarah forced herself to sit up in the wreckage. There still was an eerie ringing noise in her ears, but no amount of head shaking could stop it. She wasn't cut; not that she could see or feel. There might have been a bruise around her waist, specifically on her left hipbone, which she had fallen on as she tried to run away.

She didn't know where her siblings were, but that wasn't her main concern at the moment. Screams of pain, terror, and anguish were surrounding her. She needed to help. She stood and surveyed the surrounding area. Her hand searched her pocket for her phone, but came up with nothing. She scanned where she had fallen and there was nothing. Sighing, she reasoned that it wouldn't have been useful anyway. Even if her siblings were okay, there was a chance that they did not have their phones either, or would be able to hear them chiming. No, if she wanted to help, Sarah would have to go search for them.

Owen and Taylor would be behind her, but Victoria was probably near the finish line with Zach and Sam. That was where most of the screaming was going on, the sirens of ambulances joining the ghastly chorus. It didn't seem like there were many up and about either. Sarah made her decision and began to stumble towards the blast impact, ignoring the shaking in her hands and the trembling of her knees.

She wasn't hurt after all.

~*~

"What flight are we taking?" Canada asked as the taxi diposited them off at LaGuardia. America shook his head and marched into the terminal. He headed for a familiar door, silently hoping that England and France would get lost. Unfortunately, from the sound of footsteps behind him, they were still on his tail.

Esha Lee looked up from her desk and America entered the office. She scanned the new faces, nodded at Canada, and stared pensively at America. "Alfred, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I need to get to Boston, Esha," America answered.

Esha pursed her lips. "All flights in and out of Boston have been-"

"Grounded, I assumed."

She sighed. "Alfred-"

"Please Esha."

She frowned harder and brushed her graying hair away from her forehead. "I can't do anything about the flights, Alfred."

"I just need a plane." America was starting to get desperate. "Please Esha. I need to get to Boston. What if Chandra were there? What would you do?"

"Chandra isn't there," Esha said, her mouth tightening. "Don't play that card with me."

"Esha, please," America begged as he leaned over her desk. Normally, because of the nation's size, this would be an intimidating gesture. But America was desperate. He hated the idea of his states being in that mess and him just sitting here. It was worse than 9/11; this time all he was doing was begging. The last time he was at least helping with something. "I have to be there."

Esha still shook her head. "Can't you just collapse distance?"

America shook his head. "I can, but Matt wants to come and they'd have to take the long way there and-"

"Have you heard from them?" Esha interrupted.

America sank down into the seat, his leg starting to bounce. All this talk and no action was making him antsy and anxious. "Taylor said Owen collapsed. We don't know about the rest of them."

Esha stared at her country for a little while longer before picking up her the phone on her desk and punching in a series of memorized numbers. "Hello? Michael? I'm sending Mr. Jones down. He has a plane in our wings and he's taking it on a joyride with his family...Oh just around the harbor probably down to D.C. He said something about getting lunch down there with his sister...Yes he's fully aware of the customs. He's had the plane for as long as I've known him. I've already checked his license...Alright, buh-bye." She hung up the phone. Her eyes were smiling. "Go on Alfred."

America perked up immediately and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you."

She just shook her head at him and resumed working as the four nations left.

~*~

Hide. Hide. Hide.

Where was zie? Zie didn't know. All zie could hear was the white noise surrounding zir, all zie could do was cry. There was someone next to zir, but they weren't moving. Why weren't they moving? Were they dead? Was zie going to die? Oh god. Oh god.

Why could no one hear zir? Was there anyone? Was zie all alone?

No no no no no no no no no.

Why was the world spinning? Who told the world it could do that? Why was it so cold?

"Please," Zach sobbed, though zie didn't know zie was speaking out loud. The voice in zirs head was too loud. "Please can't someone hear me?"

~*~

They were arguing over where the land the plane. France had a feeling if another thing got in the way of the nation, there would be no stopping America from going completely mad. He didn't fully understand what was making the nation so frenzied, but if seemed as though Canada did and neither was going to be letting go of the secret anytime soon.

" _Conasse_ , all the airports are closed," Canada growled to his brother. "You can't land the plane there."

"I am the United States of America. They will let me in."

" _Comme enfer_ they'll listen to that after 9/11, America are you even thi-!"

"Don't you dare bring that up! Not today!"

Their argument quickly dissolved into chaos, and France stopped listening. He glanced at England, who was sitting on the other side of the jet's private suite, studying the clouds as though they had the answer.

"So, _Angleterre_ -"

"No."

France pouted. "You didn't even know what I was going to say."

"I don't have the patience for this today, frog."

"Why?" he asked, leaning over the aisle. "Does it bother you that _Amérique_ has been hiding a secret from you?"

England turned and glared before he realized he was doing it. "No. Why do you know something?"

France only grinned as the emerald eyed man before him sulked. After a sufficient time had passed, he commented leisurely after inspecting his nails, "I do have an idea though."

He stiffened this time, instead of glaring at the Frenchman. "An idea of what?" His voice was tight and shaky, but he remained stubbornly looking out of the window.

France watched him for a little while longer. "I think you know."

England turned, eyes boring into his from underneath his bushy eyebrows.

France knew that look. He'd last seen in on a battlefield in Normandy, or rather, after the D-Day storming of Normandy had happened and the three other men in the plane had rescued him. He had fought back furiously when they first found him, before coming to his sense once the reunification was complete. England had been looking at him like that as Canada and America barreled into him, crying out how ecstatic they were he was alright after so long with the Germans. In the present, France was bowled over. He didn't smirk, like he would have if England had been wearing any other expression. There was only one reason why he wore that expression, and France never liked seeing it on him.

"You're scared," France said dumbly. _"Pourquoi?"_

"I am not," England denied vehemently.

France hummed in agreement. "You're right. You're terrified something is going to happen to us."

England looked away. A few minutes of more silence passed before Canada appeared, stomping his feet as he did so, face red from arguing with his brother, announcing that they were landing the plane. He left. France was strapping in his seatbelt when England piped up.

"Do you feel it too?"

France looked up, raising one eyebrow. England's eyes were bright with need to know he wasn't alone and determination to get France to understand.

"Something's missing, something important, but it wasn't important until now. Like a song or dance that you could preform with your eyes closed, but now you've forgotten all of the steps. But you didn't know you did until they asked you to sing or dance to it again. It's an itch or a scratch on your brain that you can't get to stop bothering you, and it's so damn frustrating because the only solution seems to be pounding your head against the nearest object, but you know that won't help," England finished. "It makes you feel horrible because you don't know it, almost like there was someone who really wanted or needs you to remember. Do you feel it?"

France smirked. "How poetic, _Angleterre_. And yes, I suppose I do."

~*~

"First Lieutenant Samuel K. Jones. Serial Number 11163641."

Repeat it, their mind screamed at them. Repeat it until the noise stops. Until the pain stops.

"First Lieutenant Samuel K. Jones. Serial Number 11163641."

Don't stop. No. Never.

"First Lieutenant Samuel K. Jones. Serial Number 11163641."

Hold out. The pain will stop. It has to.

Tears began to mingle with their words. "First Lieu-li-lieutenan-t-t-t Samuel K. Jones. Serial Number 1...1...11-"

Don't say anything. There's nothing else. Protect them. The pain is nothing.

"S-s-serial number 11163641," they gasped as pain flared up their leg again.

Protect...them...

~*~

Why it was so fascinating to the nations that Aidan could speak many distinct languages? Yes English was his predominant language, but he could get by with many others.

This realization happened when the darker haired Italian nation had scoffed and muttered under his breath, _"Il bambino non può in gannare nessuno. È chiaro che lavora in una fattoria,"_ as Tom dropped his papers before he could read off D.C.'s scripted speech.

While the other Italy frowned at his brother, who was glaring now at Aidan, and whimpered, "Fratello~," Aidan had to sit down he was laughing too hard. Tom, who had also heard the Italian exclamation, was quickly gathering up the papers he had dropped, his face, neck, and ears steadily turning red.

Aidan was crying he was laughing so hard. Tom tried to start speaking, but Aidan glanced at him and took in the fake skateboard dweeb look that Tom had been trying to project since the invention of skateboards and lost it all over again. Tom frowned. "Aidan~ It's not that funny. It's not funny at all."

Snickering, Aidan made his way over to the Italies. "Yes it is Tom. I've known you for years, but this chap hasn't even met you and even he can see the obvious. If Paige were here, he could see the truth with her too oh my god." He reached the dark haired Latin nation who was still glaring at him. "Thank you sir. That was the best laugh I've had in a long time." He shook his hand. "What should I call you sir? _Repubblica Italiana_ is a little formal after that ingenious display of humor."

The nation took his hand back. "He's _Repubblica Italiana,_ " he said indicating his brother. "Everyone calls me Romano. You could understand me?"

Aidan smirked. "We both did, Romano. I am 7.3% Italian. He's more, right Tom?"

Tom rolled his eyes. "Yeah like almost double. 14.4%."

"From where?" Romano asked suspiciously.

"Italy."

Tom groaned softly.

Romano gritted his teeth. "From where in Italy?"

Aidan shrugged. "All over. Got a lot of Sicilian, I think. But I do have a significant amount from the main land, Adriatic Sea side."

"That doesn't explain why you speak Italian or at least understand it."

Smirking again, Aidan placed a hand on one cocked out hip. " _Vi assicuro che io parlo Italiano_ ," he purred. "And heritage man, gotta love the _famiglia_."

"If you're only 1.5% Italian, what is the rest of your heritage?" Germany asked from the seat next to _Repubblica Italiana._

Before Aidan could answer, Tom shouted from the front of the room, "Aidan, if we're going to do a lesson in your ethnic background, why don't you come over here and preach to the rest of the room."

Their eyes met, and Aidan heard D.C.'s last warning, "Don't get too far away from him."

Ever full of swagger, Aidan nodded, smirking amusedly at Tom. "Why, sure." When they were standing next to each other, Tom gestured to the podium, which Aidan stepped up to. "Okay, to answer your question, _Bundesrepublik Deutschland,_ I am 7.3% Italian, 6.5% Cuban...and eugh I think 5.4% German? Nah that was Indian. I'm 5.4% Indian and around 4% German."

Germany looked a little startled at the title that had fallen from Aidan's lips. Tom was leaning back against the wall behind the podium as Aidan, partially because he was a show-off, raised his eyebrows slightly and repeated what he said in German.

Germany cleared his throat. "You speak German as well...?"

Aidan smiled and nodded. "Yeah. I speak a lot of languages, actually. 'Bout nineteen."

Jaws dropped around the room.

"How-aru?" China asked. "You say you are only 18 aru?"

Aidan gave them his best pretend unnerved face. "My mother is a missionary. We've traveled around the world. I've had to learn many foreign languages..."

"What kind of missionary?" Russia asked from China's side.

_Pick a religion, pick a religion that won't piss off anyone_. "Judaism." _Yeah that's a great religion, mouth. Half of this room is or was anti-semetic at some point. Hell, your own nation was too._

Austria frowned. "Jews don't have a mandate to proselytize."

_Shit, you dumb ass. You picked the first religion that doesn't have any goddamn missionaries._ "I meant Lithuanian."

Tom's head jerked up. "Aidan, for the millionth time, Lutheran. And I thought you were Catholic."

Aidan turned around and glared at his brother as if to communicate the idea that Tom's comments weren't helping anything. "Right. Your mom's Lutheran, yeah? I always get so mixed up between where Mom takes me and where Dad drags me."

Tom stepped forward and nudged Aidan away from the podium. "Now, back to the issue at hand."

"How many languages do _you_ speak?"

Tom frowned for a second. "I think it was somewhere around 30 last time I checked."

... _Checked_...

Tom seemed to realize it just as Aidan did; they were running for a brick wall.

There was absolute silence from the countries around the room. Even Prussia looked up from his notebook where he had been doodling for the majority of the meeting.

"Who are you?" Germany asked. "Really."

Aidan swallowed. "We told you. We're the Governor's children."

"Why would America leave two children who have no knowledge about international affairs in his place while he runs off to deal with a bombed city?" Prussia asked.

Instead of answering, Tom turned to Aidan and made a face. Aidan made one back. "What?"

Tom closed his eyes. "Aw crap. I gotta call Maya."

Aidan stared at Tom, completely ignoring the suspicious nations in front of them. "Why Maya? Isn't she at home?"

Tom glared at him as though his incompetence made him angry as he called Maya. "Take a guess as to what her first reaction would be when she hears about Owen."

Aidan paled. "I didn't think of that."

Tom hummed. "I have to catch her before she gets a flight to Rhode Island or Connecticut."

"Is she here?"

Tom nodded. "Yeah. I think she was planning on the two of us going together. She's not staying at the airport." Maya picked up and Tom greeted her before disappearing into the hallway.

"Don't leave me alone with them," Aidan hissed at his brother. Tom waved a hand at him. Aidan turned to face them. He swallowed hard. Most of the faces were interested, some were bored, others were raging. In fact the only people whose expressions were not anger were the Italies. Instead Romano was focusing on Aidan and only Aidan, almost as if he could see Aidan's biggest secret, at least from the likes of them, in the way he stood. The other Italy was grinning and prattling off in rapid fire Italian to his brother.

Before Aidan could properly freak out, Tom returned from his call, rubbing his forehead. He went to stand next to Aidan. "She's coming here, now. She's so scared, angry, emotional in general."

Romano smirked and Italy squealed and clapped his hands, drawing Tom's attention too. Aidan swallowed hard. The last time this happened...

But they weren't doing anything. Just smiling or staring at them. They weren't telling the others their weakness, and they weren't trying to take advantage of that weakness. Aidan breathed out and placed his head on Tom's shoulder even though he himself was taller.

They must also understand what it's like to be one nation but divided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: Black (In the Western World black can symbolize both fear and power) - Mohegan language. More colors here: http://www.native-languages.org/mohegan_colors.htm


	3. Wizôwigen

There really was nothing she could do.

Sarah's knees gave out and she stumbled to the ground. She had been looking for Zach, Sam, and Vicky, but she couldn't find or hear them. She had just gotten in the first responders' way when she tried to help. Her voice shook and her legs were weak so she couldn't carry anyone or comfort any survivors.

The first tears were silent. She thought it was raining when she touched her cheek and pulled her hand away to find wetness. Then she felt the sobs building up and tearing out of her.

She was curled up where she sat, hands over her face as she screamed and cried out the pain, the terror, and the sorrow.

There was stumbling over the cracked pavement towards her and Sarah pulled her head away from her hands to tell the person she was okay, and that there were others who really needed their help. But when she saw D.C., she just sobbed harder.

He fell to his knees next to her, arms wrapping around her and pulling her tight against his chest. "Oh my God, Sarah. I didn't know- Are you okay? Oh my God. I'm so glad I found you."

Her hands scrabbled at his back. She just sobbed, hiding her face in his chest, his jacket blocking her peripheral vision. She felt safe like this. There was only comfort in his arms. He nudged her to her feet and took a step back, arms still around her. He looked her up and down, turned her around, then pulled her back into his chest, a sigh shuddering out of his lungs.

Canada appeared at D.C.'s shoulder. "Check for a concussion."

D.C. pulled her away again and stared into her eyes. "Sarah, did you hit your head on anything?"

"Uh..." her voice was thick and hesitant. "I ahem...rolled on the ground. I had my hands like this," she raised her hands to show how her elbows had cradled her head.

The two brothers exchanged looks. Canada shrugged. "I think we should take her to the hospital just in case."

"She's okay for now," D.C. said, pulling her close again. "I want to find Owen and Taylor before we do anything."

Canada looked around. "Sarah, have you seen your siblings?"

Her answer was more of a sob. D.C. tugged her closer, whispering that it was okay, she had been trying.

Canada smiled softly. "It's okay Sarah. How about you go with Am-D.C. and find Owen and Taylor. I'll take Francis and Arthur and look for Victoria, Sam, and Zachary."

She nodded against D.C.'s chest. She could hear his voice reverberate in his chest as he said to Canada, "Take them to the nearest hospital, if you find them. I'll bring Owen, Taylor, and Sarah there. I'll tell them to expect you. Hold on tight, Sarah."

Her grip tightened. She could collapse distance in Maine, but only D.C. could collapse distance in each state. She was used to the dizziness and difficulty associating directions again, but she had never liked when D.C. took her along. But like hell she was letting go of him now.

D.C. hesitated for a few seconds before bending down and sweeping her up into his arms bridal style. She held tighter to D.C.'s neck and scrounged up her eyes so that she wouldn't have to see the streets of Boston flying by.

When they stopped moving, D.C. dropped her feet, but she had enough sense to get them underneath her. He let her stay close to him, a protective arm around her as the sounds of a pissed off Taylor floated through the air and to her ears.

"Don't touch him," Taylor groused at a paramedic that was trying to get closer to a prone Owen. "There are other people out there who need your help."

"Miss, please, I understand that you're in shock, but I really need to see to your boyfriend," the paramedic tried.

"He's not my boyfriend. He's my brother and if you come near me with that sleeping juice, I'll slam a knife through your knee."

The paramedic looked around the circle of people who probably had heard Taylor shouting and gotten interested. "Would someone help restrain her please?"

D.C. turned to Sarah and cupped her face in his hands. She nodded and he pushed through the crowd, Sarah following in his wake.

Taylor's ponytail was falling out, strands of her dark brown hair falling in front of her face and standing up on her head. Her hazel eyes were wide and her teeth were gritted. She didn't have a knife, but Sarah mused that if she had a knife she would be wielding it. Instead her hands were up in fists, ready to fight this man to the death. Owen was laying on his side behind his Taylor, who had her thin legs spaced out in a shallow straddle. He was pale...well paler. His glasses were folded neatly next to him. He was barely cognizant, one hand over his heart, grimacing tightly. Sarah attempted to get closer to him as Taylor finally noticed D.C.

Her shoulders slumped and she made like she wanted to run forward, but the paramedic moved slightly and she stayed put. Sarah, wary of how her sister would react if she saw someone in her peripheral vision moving towards Owen, waited.

"Taylor," D.C. said soothingly, "how are you?"

"Peachy."

He smiled gently. "What did I miss?"

She scowled and crossed her arms now. "Enough. Why'd you take so long?"

D.C. looked behind her at Owen and he winced. "I had to take a plane."

"Why?"

The paramedic, once he had determined that Taylor's attention was riveted on D.C., began to move sneakily towards Owen, who was beginning to groan.

"Please don't," Sarah whispered as the paramedic was getting dangerously close to the edge of Taylor's protective barrier around Owen. The paramedic turned to look at her, as did Taylor.

"May," she whispered and this time she did run forward. Her arms, skinny little twigs, wrapped around her younger sister. Sarah hugged her back. "Are you okay? How close were you? Have you seen Vicky or Sam or Zach? Oh, please don't cry Sarah. Please don't. I'm sure they're okay."

Over Taylor's shoulder and through her own tears, she saw the crowd being dispersed by D.C., including the paramedic who seemed to have finally given up on Owen. Or maybe the fact that D.C. was giving him the look, the one where he tilted his head just for the light filtering in the sky to glint through his glasses and block out his expression in his eyes, helped speed the paramedic into helping the other people. When they were all gone, D.C. knelt next to Owen and easily scooped him into his arms. Owen mewled and hung his head back, one arm winding around D.C.'s neck, the other pressed against his chest.

"Girls," D.C. said gently. "We're going to find an ambulance, can you walk?"

Sarah nodded. She dropped her arms and flung her right arm over Taylor's bony shoulders. Taylor wrapped her left arm around Sarah's shoulders and they followed D.C. as he carried Owen.

~*~

They found the two of them surrounded by ambulances. At the first glance Canada got, it seemed as though Sam was out for the count, and Zachary was not in the streets of Boston. Zie was fighting the first-responders as they tried to get close to zir. There was a scary light in zirs eyes and Canada knew immediately where zie was. Of course zie would be _there,_ that's probably where Sam was too.

Canada took a deep breath and forced through the ring of people around Zachary. "Zachary," he said, trying to gain zirs attention. Canada's soft voice didn't seem to affect the panicking state. "Zachary Jones," he repeated, using more of his old commanding voice. Zach stilled and the people around him noticed the soft spoken man who had managed to make Zach stand still for the first time. "Zachary look at me. It's me, Matthew."

Zach did turn. Zie frowned at Canada. Zirs eyes were bloodshot, zirs cheeks red with obvious emotional turmoil. Zie seemed to be a little more focused. "Matt?" zie asked, his voice tough and gruff.

Canada nodded. "It's me buddy."

Zach swallowed hard. "Matt, 'm scared."

"I know you are. Can you please sit down?" Zie sat ungracefully once Canada did. "Where's your medicine?"

Zachary reached for zirs pant leg and was searching for zirs medicine. Zie began to cry as zie did. Zie held zirs medicine out once zie had found it. Canada took the medicine and shook out enough capsules for Zach.

"I'm going to hand you the medicine. My left arm is in front of you and there are pills on my hand. You're doing so well, Zach. I'm proud of you."

Zach took the medicine. "Swallow d-d-deh-dry?"

Without a word, a first responder handed Canada a water bottle. "Zach, I'm going to touch your shoulder and give you the water. Is that okay?"

Zach was quiet for a second before nodding. Once zie had taken the medicine, Canada leaned back, just out of Zach's personal space. "Do you want to go somewhere quiet?"

Zachary was obviously struggling to breathe now and Canada moved closer to zir. "Zach, breathe with me. One two three four five..."

Zachary couldn't, it seemed, follow Canada's lead in even breathing. Zie shook zirs head frantically and started hiccuping in an effort to get air into zirs lungs.

"These feelings are scary, but you can get through this. Raise your arm over your head, please."

Zachary started bawling, but did as Canada commanded.

"Very good. I'm very proud. Let's breathe, okay? In for five, hold for five, out for seven. In one two three four five. Hold it one two three four five. Out one two three four five six seven. That was great, Zach, you're doing really well. I'm very proud. Hold your hand over your head please. In one two three four five. Hold one two three four five. Out one two three four five six seven."

A first responder approached him. "Am I correct in assuming you know this man?"

Canada nodded. "I'm his cousin. In one two three four five."

The first responder waited until Canada was done dictating breaths for Zach. "He was extremely protective of the boy over there." She gestured vaguely in the direction of where Sam was. "Do you know what their relationship is?"

"They're brothers. The other one is named Sam and they have a sprained ankle. Zach, can you put your arm down now. Thank you Zach, you're doing wonderful."

"We have secured Sam," the first responder informed Canada. "There is an ambulance ready to take him. Do you think you will need an ambulance?"

"Yes. My friends are also with us. They're hanging out at the end of the crowd. Could you possibly arrange to send both ambulances to the same hospital."

She nodded. "Yes I can. And I will put you as next of kin for both of them."

Canada smiled. "Thank you. They also have a sister. I don't know if she is still in the rubble, but her name is Victoria."

"You can ask for her at the hospital. Can you get Zach into an ambulance?"

"I can try." Canada smiled at her retreating back. "Zach, can you stand up please? I'm very proud, you're doing excellent. I'm going to take your arm now, okay? Then we're going to get into an ambulance and go to the hospital. Sam's going to be in the next ambulance. There's going to be two other men with us. They're my friends, Arthur and Francis. They're going to play the siren when we start moving. Just concentrate on your breathing. Stay in the present. Step up now please. You're doing so well. You can lay down or sit. It's not the place that's bothering you, just the memories. They're only memories," Canada said softly as Zach leaned back on the bed, zirs breathing evening out, eyes closed, but still with a vice-like grip on Canada's wrist.

The first responder from before came over with England and France in tow before climbing up into the carriage herself. She quietly introduced herself to Zach and asked if it was okay for her to touch zirs arm. She started explaining what was happening and where they were going.

"Who's this chap?" England asked, gesturing to Zachary.

"Zachary Jones," Canada answered softly, his thumb caressing the back of Zach's hand.

England stayed silent for a few seconds. Then he leaned over to whisper in Canada's ear. "I expect a good explanation for what ever the hell is happening right now and who all these 'Jones's are."

Canada bit his lip and kept his eyes on Zach. _America's going to kill me if I say anything_.

~*~

America was waiting in the lobby when they arrived, arguing with the young woman they had met before they separated-the one with the short choppy dark brown hair tied back with a blue ribbon and light violet eyes and thick eyebrows -with another woman at his side. The second woman had long brown wavy hair with one errant curl poling out to the side. She wore a blanket over her shoulders, still dirty from the ground. When she turned and saw the three- no four now- the four of them, her green eyes widened and she ran over.

Zachary was walking; the paramedic had concluded that there was nothing physically harming him and that he could walk if he were able to. The girl was laughing lightly as she raced towards them. She didn't launch herself at Zachary, but instead waited until he nodded shallowly. She grabbed him tightly and rocked side to side, him in her tight grip.

Canada kept on walking towards his brother, forcing England and France to follow. France looked over his shoulder as they passed the two of them.

"-okay, D.C. I promise. I didn't get hit," the girl- Sadie?- continued as the three nations approached them. England frowned. Why was she calling America by his capital and not Alfred?

"I don't care if you didn't get hit, I want you to go see the doctor. You might have gotten a concussion or internal bleeding," America argued back.

The girl- Saylee?- sighed bitterly. "I'm okay. We really need to worry about everyone else who is not okay. Like Sam and Zachary."

"We found them," Canada cut in. "Sam has a concussion and they're taking them in now. Zachary's over there with Taylor. Zie had a panic attack, but I've managed to talk zir down from it. A nice paramedic put me as the next of kin for both of them. We couldn't find Victoria-"

"Vicky was here when we arrived," America said tightly, eyes still on the girl- Stephanie? "Canada, please explain to Maine why she should go into the doctors and get checked out."

 _...What?..._ England turned quickly to France, who looked just as confused.

Canada looked at his brother, who apparently hadn't noticed his slip up. "Um, _Sarah_ , I think you should go have at least a check-up. Not even with a doctor. What about a therapist-?"

"I don't need a therapist," the girl- England resolved to refer to her as such until her true identity was made clear to him- argued petulantly.

America looked ready to blow his lid at that point. The secretaries at the front desk glanced up worriedly as he took a step closer to the girl. "Don't need a therapist?" he hissed angrily. "Oh right, I forgot. You're perfectly fine. There's absolutely nothing that makes it hard for you to get up in the morning and go into Augusta and work. There's no traces of lingering damage from the Vietnam War or the Korean War. You can easily sit through the fireworks on the fourth. You're so perfectly fine-"

"Stop it, D.C.! Stop it!" she said, starting to cry.

"-that being near enough to an exploding bomb which endangered your people and your family did nothing to you and now you can walk away with no strings attached."

The girl was bawling. England's eyes flicked from the still seething America to the hiccuping girl to a blushing and uncomfortable Canada.

A secretary stood up and exited their little office space. He approached them. "Is there a problem, sir?"

America glared at him and England could only guess what his expression was like, but it was probably suitably horrifying as the secretary leaned back a little bit. He didn't say anything and the girl sniffled as she wiped her eyes dry. Canada looked down, and then turned away.

"Oui," France said with passion, "there is a problem. This little girl here, my cousin, recently returned from service overseas and unfortunately has a lot of bad memories from there. She was just going to have a nice run with her siblings, but regretfully the two bombs went off, as I'm sure you've heard of, oui ou non? Those bombs sparked the lingering memories, but since she is so self-less, she has refused to seek professional guidance until those who need it more are taken care of. But she really does need the help as soon as possible. Is there a therapist or psycologist available for her?"

America was staring at France, as was the girl. Canada had managed to slip away. The secretary nodded and went back to his desk with "Just a moment please." France's easy smile dropped once he turned away. America was still staring at France as though he didn't know if he should be angry or thankful.

"The explanation had better be good, _Amérique_ ," France groused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: Yellow in the Penobscot-Abenaki Language (http://www.native-languages.org/abenaki_colors.htm). Yellow can symbolize illness and hope (http://www.incredibleart.org/lessons/middle/color2.htm).


	4. Uli

Tom was growing increasingly more nervous as he felt Maya near the UN building. He wanted to go out to intercept her, but Aidan had hissed that D.C. told them to stay together. And as much as Aidan was uncomfortable in the room with the other nations, he flat out refused to leave. His sense of duty was really annoying sometimes.

It was also really hard to focus with the sheer amount of nations in his territory and the memories and old phantom twinges in his wrist.

Aidan, who normally would help when Tom was feeling this way, was not paying attention to either him or the nation at the front of the room. He kept on glancing at Romano and his brother, who had been studying the two of them ever since they sat down and let the meeting continue on. They weren't the only ones, but they were the only ones that Aidan was noticing and that kept on looking at them. The Mexico's (North and South), who were sitting next to Aidan, had vouched for their trustworthiness- being the only ones in the room to know about them after America and Canada had left. Someone had muttered about North Americans trying to one-up the rest of the world, and the meeting continued a little awkwardly, but eventually most forgot about the two boys in America's and Canada's seats.

But that lovely peace would be disrupted the minute Maya entered and then Nathan, once he got his act together.

Tom was picking at his nails and shaking like a little leaf as he just sat there, itching to do something. Hitting his head against something seemed like a really good idea right about now as Maya entered the building.

"Ai~dan~" he whined under his breath.

His brother looked over _finally_. "What's up Tom? Need to break something?"

"Maya's here," he muttered as he placed his head on the table in front of him. "It's hard to focus and NYC's tingling."

"Bad or good?" Aidan asked needlessly.

"Bad, you idiot."

"Here, lean back," Aidan said as he gently pushed back Tom's shoulder until he was leaning against his chair, head tipping over the back of it. "Just breathe, okay?"

"Psychosomatic," Tom groused. "It's stupid."

"No it's not."

"'M not in any danger, so it is."

Aidan rolled his eyes and took Tom's right wrist and began moving it rapidly, making Tom's hand move with no impulse from Tom. It was something Aidan had taken to doing after 9/11 when, if Tom was sitting still for a while, he would start to scratch at his skin and at one point had managed to draw blood. It was forged from a reaction to the terrorist attack, but when Aidan had seen, he immediately grabbed Tom's arms and shook him, effectively drawing Tom to the present and that he wasn't alone. Even now, years afterwards, the action had a calming and reassuring feel to it.

The surrounding murmurs of the nations slowly petered out as Maya finally entered. Tom leaned his head back down and stared at his sister.

Her short dark hair was down, as it almost always was unless it was at the party on the Fourth down in Texas where Alexa always manages to tie it into pigtail braids. Maya had a baggy blue halter-top on and a high waisted white skirt. The lei and flowers for her hair were presumably in the leather bag she had slung over her right shoulder. Her left shoulder was bare and the beautifully decorated cherry blossoms were visible to everyone.

Aidan's face was steadily growing red as Maya cheerfully greeted North Mexico who just shook his head at her. "How many more of you are going to show up today?"

She tilted her head before scanning the faces of the crowd. "I honestly have no id- oh hey Aidan!"

"Maya Kalae Jones, what are you wearing?" Aidan asked.

Disregarding Germany, who had approached Maya probably on the grounds as to ask what she was doing here, and the rest of the room, except for her two brothers, Maya bounced over to the two of them. "Clothes." She laid a hand on Tom's shoulder and smiled gently. "Holding up buddy?"

Tom, as he smiled up at his ridiculous little sister, was reminded why he adored her. "Mmhmm. How about you?"

She sighed and picked up Kumajiro out of his seat next to Tom and sat down, the pudgy bear on her lap. "It was a long flight." She squeezed the bear around his middle.

"Maya," Aidan said again, sounding beside himself. "It's March? How can you be wearing that?"

Maya flapped a hand at him. "It's warmer back in Honolulu. I don't know how you mainlanders handle this shitty weather."

The rest of the room was silent and the surrounding nations' attention was on them...again. Maya seemed to realize this after her statement. She turned and addressed the assembly at large. "You can continue with your little meeting."

South Mexico shook her head. "No no first ellos y entonces tú y then Nathan llega."

Maya looked amused. "You can speak Spanish, Sur. I could understand you."

"Not as much if we were speaking English or Hawaiian."

Maya snorted. "I would die laughing if you tried speaking Hawaiian."

"What about Tagalog?" Tom asked, forgetting for the moment that they weren't alone. It's been too long since he'd seen his sister and he missed her dry banter with Aidan.

"Neither of you speak Tagalog," Maya scoffed.

"Au contraire," Aidan said flippantly.

"That's French."

"Yes thank you Tom, I did not know that."

"Well, at any rate, you speak Tagalog better than Japanese, Aidan," Maya said studying her nails.

"Says the girl who has been fluent in both since..." Aidan muttered, dropping his voice slightly and watching Maya apprehensively, "...forever," he finished.

Maya rolled her shoulder absentmindedly. "What can I say? Islands attract islands."

"And D.C."

Aidan and Maya snorted.

Germany cleared his throat, still standing in front of the assembly of nations. The three states turned to him. "If you three are finished...?"

"Oh!" Maya threw her hands up and turned to Tom.

 _Oh shit_ thought Tom.

"Come on," she said. "Didja hear about Owen? We gotta go see if he's okay."

Tom sighed and looked down at his hands. "Maya, D.C. told me to stay here."

Maya blinked. "What?"

"He's with Owen now."

Her jaw dropped and she looked down at the conference table. Her mouth moved a few times, almost as if she didn't understand what was happening. Then she turned to Tom, a fire alight in her eyes. "I did not come all the way from Honolulu after I woke up just to hurtle through the atmosphere at top speed so that I could make it to my brother's side and then be told that I wasn't needed there. Owen's never had something like this happen to him. D.C. is just being stupid if he told you not to let me go over there."

"D.C. doesn't know you're here," Tom tried. "I think you should-"

"Tom!" she exclaimed as she stood up, Kumajiro slid out of her lap and crawled under Tom's seat and over to Aidan. "Don't tell me what to do. You don't know what it's like-"

Ignoring the sting from his wrist that was just bad memories anyway, Tom pushed back his chair and stood up, glaring down at his sister. "For the record, Maya, you don't know what it's like either. None of us know what it's like. But I'd like to think that I know what it's like better than anyone else. New York is always targeted."

"And what? A small island far from contact with the mainland isn't?"

"Guys," Aidan said softly.

"You've only been around for 114 years give or take," Tom growled.

"Oh and you're so high and mighty because you're almost 403?" Maya snarled back. "Or do you consider yourself 224? No you wouldn't because then you'd be closer in age to rest of us."

"I consider myself 403 because I don't ignore the history that happened before I became a state-"

"Tom, Maya, please guys," Aidan said, standing now and trying to shove the two of them away from each other.

"Oh and I ignore my history?"

"You certainly don't talk about it. Or your father."

Maya bristled and started to march away. "I do not have time for this right now. I'm going to see Owen to help-"

"Bombs falling into water is nothing like planted bombs in your capital!" Tom shouted after her.

Her back tensed up and silence fell in the room. She turned around gravely. "What did you just say?"

Tom pushed his shoulders back and looked down his nose at his sister. "An act of war is nothing like a terrorist attack."

"Jackass. Have you experienced both?"

"Actually-"

"New York State and the Islands of Hawaii, kindly take your seats and shut up," Aidan shouted from atop the conference table. The two looked at their brother. His face was red and he looked as if he had to eat a million lemons in a row. He was standing tall and powerful on the table, disregarding the wince from Germany. "Sit," he insisted at their twin looks of irritation.

They did, Maya tightly knotting herself up, careful of her side, Tom noted as he sat beside her.

"Alright, now that you've stopped acting like little children over who got the biggest boo-boo, I'm going to clean up this mess."

Tom opened his mouth to shout at his brother, but Aidan glared at him. "Yeah I know you both have scars, bad memories, and think you know what Owen's going through. I'm scared for him too, now please shut up so I can make this speech and then we can escape before they try to kill us, yeah?"

Tom scowled at his feet.

Aidan turned to the rest of the nations and marched to the center of the table. "Okay. Who here thinks we have been lying through our teeth this whole time? Raise your hand." Aidan proudly raised his hand as did most of the nations.

"Aidan," Mexico Norte said, "policy 17nk-"

Aidan smiled tightly at him. "I would abide by that policy, but my wonderful siblings over there just sort of destroyed the premise of the policy.

"Those of you who raised your hands, you are completely right. I am not, nor will I ever be or want to be, the son of the governor of New Jersey. I am the anthropomorphic personification of the state of New Jersey. I am essentially a micronation, but I do not have the power to go to war or print my own money or a bunch of other powers my national government has.

"Crash Course in American government that lots of you may just ignore, but if you're curious as to why I am here, this'll be kind of important. So there's a national government, that's the America all of you have come to know and hate or love. But back home, the only area that is solely represented by D.C. is Washington D.C. our national capital. Hence why I call him D.C. I also consider myself a part of America the nation so it doesn't really sit well with me to call him that. The rest of the nation, besides Washington D.C., is seperated into provinces we refer to as states. There are fifty of us. The first thirteen were the original colonies that fought Great Britain for independence.

"Now, you must be asking yourselves, how could this be? You would've remembered a nation split apart in tiny itty bitty weak little sections, wouldn't you?"

The nations just stared at Aidan.

"Well the joke's on you," Aidan said as he began to pace on top of the table. Tom closed his eyes and sighed. "There was a policy enacted in 1787 called the 17nk87os Policy. It caused the erasure of all of the individual states in public and historical documents. Every nation who had interacted with the states was given a drink that wiped their memories and replaced them with new ones with America only. Everyone who hadn't, eventually just forgot when their questions were answered with more questions."

"Who were the nations?"

Aidan frowned to himself for a second. "Um..." he rubbed the back of his hand with his knuckles. "Well...for me personally...Netherlands, Sweden, and England. Tom...?"

"France, Netherlands, England," Tom said tight-lipped. He did not like talking about the period before the Revolutionary War.

Aidan smiled sheepishly in no clear direction. "Pretty much all of Europe had to be wiped. The only nations who knew previous to this were the Mexicos and Canada. Canada because his provinces are the same sort of set up and the Mexico's 'cause they're Mexico."

South Mexico shook her head at Aidan's cheeky smile. "Don't give me lip, boy."

"I'm older than you, gurl."

"How old are you?" Germany asked, slightly interested.

Aidan hesitated. "You could say that I'm around 400 years old or that I'm 225 years old."

"What do you consider yourself and why two different ages?" Germany asked again.

Aidan made a tsking sound. "Well I consider myself 225, but I was originally settled by the Dutch in the early 17th century. I became a state on December 18, 1787. That's technically my birthday."

"Do you just disregard the years that you were a colony then?" Netherlands asked, almost as if he were insulted. As if, even though he could not possibly remember Aidan, he took the fact that Aidan considered his birthday the day he joined the union personally.

Laughing awkwardly, Aidan forced a smile at the Netherlands before turning to look at Tom. "See...that's a really good question. In one aspect I don't, but in another I kind of do."

"What?"

"I~ don'trememberwhenIwasacolony."

There was a long silence around the room until:

"I call bullshit," Prussia announced from his seat. "None of this makes any sense."

Maya was on the table before Tom could blink. She marched over to Prussia as Aidan sat down on the table, head in his hands. Maya never took kindly to people ignoring her statehood (even though once upon a time she hated the title). She sat down in front of Prussia, her legs folded underneath her. Tom smiled grimly. This would be entertaining.

"Hi," she said.

Prussia raised an eyebrow.

"I'm Hawaii, traditionaly the territory of Hawaii. My father was the Kingdom of Hawaii. What's your name?" she held out a hand as she finished.

Prussia looked at her hand. " _Preußen_."

"So you're familiar with Europe, yes? I'd hope so. You are East Germany, afterall."

Aidan turned to Tom and signed, _She is going to get herself killed._ Tom only smirked and went back to watching the show.

"You probably have been in a few wars as well, right? And every war leaves a scar, yes? You probabaly have more scars than I do because after the Civil War, every war America, as a nation, participated in was fought on foreign soil. Well except for one tiny little action an axis power took on December 7, 1941.

"I'm sure you've heard about Pearl Harbor. Hell if you didn't then you needed to pay more attention in World War Two. Because a big nation like America coming in to fuck shit up might have been a little bit of a shock after we had been practicing neutrality for the better part of the war. Well anyway, Pearl Harbor is a port on Ford Island, a part of the Islands of Hawaii. Early on the morning of December 7, the Japanese Imperial Navy bombed the harbor which eventaully dragged the US into the war."

Tom could see an uncomfortable Japan sitting with the other Asian nations, just after the Southern American nations. He shifted awkwardly and poked at his sleeves, a red hue increasing density over his face as Maya blatantly discussed one of the infamous events tied in with her and Japan. Maya had only been a toddler when it had happened and if anyone had been really incensed by it, it would be Vicky. Vicky had to take care of a screaming and in too much pain Maya and a crying Kira (crying only because she had been woken by accident when Maya was flailing from the pain).

"Now I have gotten over the bridge with blaming Japan for that. I don't care. It was war and war makes nations and people do stupid things. But I do have a scar from it. Do you want to see?"

Prussia frowned. "Where is it?"

Maya lifted her left arm and pulled on the hem of her haltertop just so that the angry red line of almost healed welts could be seen on the side of her rib cage.

Prussia looked dubious. "The tattoo?"

Maya shook her head. "No the stem of the tree is the scar. I got the tattoo a few years back."

"Why? And why a cherry blossom tree? Isn't Hawaii famous for the palm trees?"

"In Japanese culture," Maya said as she dropped her arm and looked right into Prussia's red eyes, "the cherry blossom tree represents the fragility of life. After I became a state, I had D.C. take me to get it done. It was a way for me to say that I was moving on, but it was still important for me. I like to think that it also ties me in with the rest of the mainland and D.C with the cherry blossoms we got in the early 1900's.

"Besides, palm trees mean victory. And I don't think anyone really won that war."

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: Blue in Hawaiian. Blue symbolizes truth.
> 
> (Hawai'i is wearing a hula dance outfit. I am aware that mos Hawaiians do not ear clothes like that everyday. You can come to your own conclusions as to why she is wearing that)
> 
> (The joke New York tells about "Islands attract islands and D.C." is a running joke the continental US has with America. America, as a nation, has a lot of history with other islands around the world: England, the Hawaiian Islands, Puerto Rico, Cuba, the Phillippines, and Japan. Obviously Alfie has a type)


	5. Msqui

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In an effort to make all of the states relatable and representative of their citizens, at the moment, two characters have eating disorders. One of them binges in this chapter (it's actually kind of quick and I had my friend who (unfortunately) suffers from the same disorder read it over so nothing is completely wrong.) If it'll trigger you in any way, please do not read the second section. I'm not supporting eating disorders.

Sam didn't open their eyes when they woke up. A hand was clutching theirs and the plane they were laying on was spongy. A mattress. There was a lot of noise, but it was dulled. A light beeping of machines surrounding them, a soft whisper passed around the room that Sam's mind was too muddled to understand. There was a soft overlay of a chemical smell, but it wasn't frightening. More like reassurance that they were okay. That they weren't in an old abandoned building the middle of the desert.

 

Sam sighed and turned their head to their left. The whispering murmurs stopped when they did so. It sounded like someone sat down to their right, but the hand in theirs didn't move.

 

"Sam?" a voice said, a little louder.

 

Finally blinking their eyes open, Sam stared at their brother. Owen was pale, a blanket around his shoulders and dark rim around his eyes. Sam squeezed Owen's hand. "You still owe me dinner."

 

"Boston's a little blown up right now," Owen said, trying to joke, but his voice petered out at the end of his sentence.

 

"That's what that was?" Sam asked, turning their head to look at the person on their right. Matt smiled down at him.

 

"How's your head, Sam?"

 

"It feels cottony. Did the doctors take my brain? I'm assuming I'm in a hospital."

 

Matt stood up and nodded. "I'm going to get D.C., okay? Are you two okay alone?"

 

"D.C. locked down the room," Owen muttered to the blankets on Sam's bed. "We'll be fine.""

 

Matt left. The two states remained quiet until Sam reached over and flicked Owen's forehead. "What's eating you?"

 

Owen peeked up and Sam was startled to find tears in his eyes. "Owen?" Sam asked, feeling dread creep upon them.

 

"It hurts, Sam," Owen whispered. "I can feel them. They were all so scared, there were so many in pain. I heard you, Zach, Sarah, and Victoria screaming in my mind. I can still hear Victoria's screams."

 

"You're scaring me, Owen. Where's Vickie?"

 

Owen's lips pressed together tightly and his eyes sparkled with more tears. "She's still in surgery."

 

"Still in?" Sam said, hearing their panic inflect in their voice. "What do you mean? When did she go in?" No. Not Victoria. Anyone but Victoria. They couldn't lose Victoria. She had to be okay, she had to. There's no possible way that she could not be. "What's wrong with her?"

 

"We don't know when she went in because an ambulance had picked her up," Owen hiccuped. "But it's bad, Sam. Really bad."

 

"How long have I been out, Owen?" Owen shook his head, tugged his hand away from Sam and covered his face. "Owen! How long?"

 

His hands covered his mouth. "Three hours and twenty-seven minutes."

 

Sam leaned back in on their bed. They closed their eyes and sighed, trying not to cry. But it was hard when the world felt like it was ending. They'd been out that long? What if Victoria was already dead? What if she hit her head and forgot everything? What if- "What if she doesn't-"

 

There was a knock at the door, followed by four pairs of feet. Someone sat on the other side of Sam as Owen stood up and backed away. "Sam?" Alfred asked, his voice soft and gentle. "Why are you crying?"

 

As Alfred brushed the tears off of Sam's cheeks, Sam's lungs shuddered in an effort to breathe normally. "Does your head hurt too much?" he asked, lowering his voice considerably. And while that helped, it wasn't what was making Sam lose it right now and couldn't Alfred see that Sam was dying over here.

 

"Owen...Owen said th-th-that Vic-Victoria'z in surgery," Sam cried, reaching blindly for Alfred's hand because, dammit, they were scared and wanted to be comforted. "What if...what if when she gets out she doesn't rem-" The rest of their sentence was covered by loud sobs and panicked mewling.

 

"Sam, sweetheart, open your eyes," Alfred said as he grabbed Sam's hand and ran his thumb over the back of their hands. Alfred's other hand was cradling Sam's cheek, thumb brushing away the dampness there. Sam blinked open their eyes and gazed at Alfred and only at Alfred. Alfred smiled gently. "Yes Victoria is in surgery. It did look pretty bad. There was a lot of shrapnel and lacerations. She isn't dead. She'll remember, okay?"

 

"Where's-?"

 

"Taylor took Zachary home. Sarah's talking to a therapist. Owen's right next to you."

 

"Then who's in the room? Doctors?"

 

Alfred swallowed. He looked down and removed his hand from Sam's cheek. "Not quite, Sam."

 

"Then who-?" Sam started to ask as they turned to eye the others in the room. They inhaled sharply. Two men stood at the foot of his hospital bed, one in a tailored suit, the other in a dress shirt and pressed slacks. It'd been years, but Sam would never forget that messy blond hair, or those lime green eyes; nor could they forget the long wavy hair and winking blue eyes of the second man. Sam's eyes were drawn back to England and a sinking pain made itself known in their chest. England was staring back at Sam, but not the way Sam wanted, no matter how hard they tried to push that stupid want down and crush it. They could feel tears start to build behind their eyes and Sam forced themself to look to Alfred.

 

"Why are they in my room?" Sam asked bitingly. They didn't understand. Alfred had made it very clear that they weren't allowed to see any other nation besides the Mexico's and Matt. And yeah, there was a part of Sam that had been longing to see England for the past two hundred years, but this was against everything Alfred had told him ever since the adoption of the Constitution.

 

Alfred was sitting angled away from the two of them, slumped over his knees. "I couldn't leave them in the waiting room.

 

"Why the hell not?"

 

"Sam, ple-"

 

"Shut UP, Owen," Sam shouted seething and refusing to look at France and England. "I want them out of my room. Get them out."

 

Alfred, muttered again, just barely audible. "Sam, you're acting like a child."

 

"I'm acting like a child?" Sam demanded, their voice escalating and sounding more hysterical as they continued on with their tirade. "You're the one who won't even look me in the eye, Alfred. You were the one who put that stupid policy in place in the first place. And now you're breaking it and I just was in a high stress environment and you're accusing me of acting like a child when I don't understand what- what- what-"

 

Matt took Owen's old seat. His hands were held up as though he were trying to calm down a wild animal. "Sam, please, calm down for a second. I'm sorry you were hurt. I'm sorry you don't understand what's going on. We don't really know what's happening either. But yelling at America won't help anything. And we all know that neither of you two can explain yourselves well. May I?" Matt looked over at Alfred, who was holding his head, glasses pushed up to his hair line, hand pressed to his eyes. Alfred nodded slightly. "We were in NYC when Taylor called America to say that something happened in Boston. She said that it was bombs. We called in Tom and Nathan, well and Aidan who came with Tom, to take our places so that we could get here and find the six of you. I volunteered France and England to help look for you, Zach, Victoria, and Sarah. So if you're going to be mad at anyone for why they're here, blame me, okay? America tried valiantly to shake the two of them when we went to the airport to get his jet. They just want answers. We were waiting for you to wake up so we could maybe explain a little more to them," Matt said, his voice soft and calming, almost charming the tension out of Sam.

 

Grunting softly, Sam looked back to Alfred. "So policy 17nk87os is completely null and void?"

 

Alfred nodded, his hand still pressed to his eyes. "I'll tell Barack in the morning."

 

Sam sighed and looked up at the ceiling. Fucking great. This was not how they wanted today to go. They were supposed to be bored for a few hours with Zach and then go out to eat and make fun of Owen's running ability. "Well, if I'm going to explain it to them, I want to do it at home."

 

~*~

 

Taylor pulled over to a rest stop. The silence in the car was troubling her. Zach was curled up tightly, hopefully asleep. She parked the car outside of the main building and reached over to shake zirs shoulder. Zie woke with a start and blinked wildly before realizing what was happening. Zie sighed. "Sorry, Tay.

 

"Don't apologize," she said, her voice soft. "I was just wondering if you wanted to get something to eat.

 

Zie made a face. "I think I'll throw it up." Taylor smiled lightly. "I'm going to get a drink, okay?"

 

Zie nodded and curled back up again as she went in. She ended up buying a large hot chocolate with whipped cream, a packet of Charleston Crackers, and a bag of maple candies. When she got back to the car, Zach was craning zirs neck to see the sky. She placed her drink in the cup holder and the snacks in front of the stereo. She pulled out onto the highway again. Her hand reached for the candies against her will. No matter how hard she tried to stop, she kept on inhaling the little candies. Her hand scrapped the bottom of the bag. She stared straight ahead, her fingers still wrapped around the candy, guilt cloaking her throat and constricting her voice. Why had she eaten all of those? And the hot chocolate? Why had she let-

 

Zach reached over and took her hand, her thoughts quieted as zie whispered, "They'll find them."

 

Stupid, silly Zach. She glanced over. Zie was looking over at her. She sighed and looked back to the never ending stream of taillights. "I know."

 

~*~

 

Sam almost refused when the nurse brought in a wheelchair for them. But when they tried to stand and use the pair of crutches the nurse had brought, Sam almost fell over and had to sit down for a while before trying to get up. But that time, they had forgotten about Newtown and regardless of the new brace on it, they still couldn't walk on it. So, finally, after cussing in every language they knew, Sam was situated in the wheelchair.

 

D.C. was letting them take his Crossover from his permanent residence in Boston. He was staying behind to wait for Sarah and Victoria. France, England, and Canada were going with Owen and Sam back to Sam's place in Windsor. Wordlessly, the three nations situated themselves in the back while Owen helped Sam get into the car and then folded up their wheelchair. Owen was fiddling with the radio when they pulled onto the Mass Pike. Sam hadn't said anything yet, besides complaining about their ankle and head when Owen helped them into the taxi and then the car. Dancing and singing had always been a hobby of Sam's, so the radio couldn't hurt, could it?

 

"-A moment? Promise me this: that you'll stand by me forever, but if, God forbid, fate should step in, and force us into a good bye, if you have children some day, when they point ot the pictures, please tell them my name. Tell 'em how the crowds went wild tell 'em-"

 

Sam jerked foward and slammed a hand on the skip button.

 

"-'Cause nobody wants to be the last one there, and everyone wants to feel like someone cares. Someone to lo-"

 

Skipped.

 

"Well, some nights I wish that this all would end. 'Cause I could use some friends for a change. And some nights I'm scared you'll forget me again. Some nights-"

 

Skipped.

 

"So far the police are setting up a 15 block perimeter around the initial blast sites. Lenox Hotel and surrounding buildings are still evacuated and Boston Police Bomb Squad are going to preform a controlled explosion on 600th block of Boylston Street. The Police commissioner Ed Davis has recommended that Boston citizens stay off the street. Airspace is still restricted over Boston and all flights in and out have been gr-"

 

This time it was Owen who turned off the radio. Sam had been staring at the console in shock. "Why don't you put in a CD?" he asked, pointing to the case in the side of Sam's door.

 

"Owen, they're going to do a controlled explosion," Sam tried. "Maybe Matt should drive."

 

"Davis knows to call me if they're going to something like that," Owen said, tapping his pocket where his phone was. Sam didn't say anything, but Owen could feel their disapproving stare.

 

They looked away and picked up the case of CD's. After the sound of the zipper opening, there wasn't any noise until Sam said with an air of confusion. "Um Owen?"

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Why is there one for each of us?"

 

"What?"

 

"Alabama, 'Laska, Arizona, Arkansas all the way to Wyoming. Everyone has their own CD."

 

"I don't know. Find yours and we'll put it in." Grumbling, Sam did so. Soon the familiar strains of "Yankee Doodle" were emitting from the speakers of the car. The two states looked at each other for a second before Sam snorted and started singing along obnoxiously. Owen, with one hand on the wheel, was laughing as he reached over and swatted his sibling's arm. "Stawp, Sam."

 

"I even remember the dance too," Sam said cheekily

 

Owen shook his head as he switched lanes. "You can't dance with Newtown and a concussion."

 

"Well I can sing."

 

"No you can't."

 

Sam was bouncing in their seat, head nodding from side to side with the beat of their state song. "There was Captain Washington upon a slapping stallion, giving orders to his men. I guess there was a million. Yankee Doodle keep it up-"

 

"MY EARS!"

 

"THEN THE FEATHERS ON HIS HAT, THEY LOOKED SO VERY FINE OH I WANTED DESPERATELY TO GET TO GIVE TO MY JEMIMA~" Sam sang as loud as they could, completely covering up their brother's complaints. As their song ended, they were searching through the case. "Looky here, Mass~! Guess what I found?" they said as they flashed Owen's CD.

 

Owen snorted. "Go on, put it in." "I wasn't asking for permission," Sam said as they ejected their disk, cutting a swelling piano piece short. They fed Massachusett's CD into the player. As it was being read, Sam smirked at Owen. "Whadduya think it's gunna be?"

 

"Something better than y-" They stared at the console as the song started, almost as if it had offended them. Owen was the first to look away, humming under his breath. In his peripherial vision, he saw Sam slump back into their seat and frown out their window. An awkward atmosphere settled in between the occupants in the car continuing into the next song. Owen sighed and pulled over to the side of the road.

 

Sam turned quickly to him. "What are you doing? Does Boston hurt?" Owen shook his head and refused to look at Sam, anger and hurt welling up in his throat making it hard for him to draw breath or even speak.

 

"Then what?"

 

Owen blinked rapidly, hating how quickly he was losing it. "I know what you're thinking about. Stop."

 

Sam's shoulders pushed backwards and their eyes were boring into Owen. "How can I not think about it? Your song was about-"

 

"So was yours-"

 

"Not directly."

 

"Really?"

 

"It's not. It's just from that time period."

 

"Yeah it is, but even then it doesn't-"

 

"Besides Alfred told me to tell them-"

 

"-you're doing it again!"

 

"What am I doing?" Sam demanded angrily.

 

"I'm still Massachusetts," Owen said. And though his words were angry, tears were pilling up behind his eyes. He'd thought that Sam had gotten over this...this silly little wish or pity fest.

 

Sam's face inflamed and they turned away curtly. "I'm not doing this right now. Let's go."

 

"You don't want to do this any other time," Owen snarled.

 

Sam whipped back around. "I'm not doing this with England in the car."

 

"Why? Because you'll end up punching him instead of me?"

 

"Start the damn car, Owen."

 

"No." Sam pressed their lips together and swallowed hard. They didn't realize, it seemed, that their next exclamation wasn't in English, but rather in Narragansett. They were breathing hard when they finished.

 

A tear fell down Owen's cheek. "I don't understand."

 

Sam turned away again and wouldn't look at Owen. Owen, for his part, took a deep breath and reached for the keys to start the car again. They were all tired and tense, the sooner they got to Windsor the better they'd all feel. Besides the two Europeans in the back were probably more tired.

 

"Owen," Canada whispered softly from the back. "Why don't you let France drive?"

 

Owen swallowed. "He doesn't know how to get to Windsor."

 

"I'll give him directions. You and Sam should take a nap or something."

 

Not keen on fighting anymore, Owen relinquished the driver's seat to France and climbed into the back, pressed between Canada and England. He sat up straight at first, but after Canada wrapped an arm around his shoulder, he ended up with his knees on his lap and his head balanced on the curve of his shoulders. The gentle whispers of French from France at the driver's seat and the rumble of French that Owen could hear from Canada's chest soon lulled him asleep. The last thing he heard was England whispering, "Are they alright?"

 

Canada sighed and rubbed Owen's back. "They have a lot of tension and history between the two of them and the rest of New England. They haven't really sat down and discussed it at all. Partially because Connecticut and Rhode Island don't want to talk about it and the rest of them don't want to know."

 

~*~

 

Chapter Title: Red (Nipmuc Narragansett which encompasses the northeastern corner of Connecticut, Rhode Island, and the southern border of Massachusetts). Red symbolizes truth and aggression. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: Red (Nipmuc Narragansett which encompasses the northeastern corner of Connecticut, Rhode Island, and the southern border of Massachusetts). Red symbolizes truth and aggression.


	6. Marrone

When the meeting ended almost the second another boy entered the room and made his way over to New York (the potato bastard had finally blew his lid and slammed a hand on the table and yelled that because of the frequent interruptions from the hosting country there was no use in continuing this charade of a meeting and they would all have to reconvene tomorrow or whenever America, England, and France returned from their little journey. The boy who had walked in, turned towards the potato bastard and frowned and asked a question in French that New Jersey answered), Romano grabbed Veneziano's hand before he could run off to Germany and led (dragged) him over to the collection of almost nations. New York seemed to be explaining what was happening to the new kid, who was getting more and more annoyed as New York continued on.

Always polite, Romano interrupted them. "Ciao."

New Jersey turned around and raised an eyebrow as New York and the other one fell silent. "Ciao yourself."

"Know any good restaurants around here? I'm hungry, dammit."

New Jersey raised an eyebrow mockingly. "I might."

New York coughed. "Dapat ba naming pinagkakatiwalaan ang mga ito?"

New Jersey paused for a long time, not looking anywhere but at Romano and Veneziano. Then he simply said, "Oo. Kaya namin."

New York looked at his brother for a second, just long enough to give Romano confirmation that they were talking about him and Veneziano. "Yeah I know a few places."

New Jersey smirked. "A few places. There's enough restaurants for someone to eat out for every meal for thirty-five years without eating at the same place."

New York rolled his eyes and turned to look at Romano. "Yeah, but not all of them are good. What are you in the mood for?"

"Pas-" Veneziano started.

"You always want pasta," Romano groused.

"No I meant like type of food. Like do you want Chinese food? Vietnamese? Italian? Mexican?"

New Jersey grinned lecherously. "Spanish?"

The blush on Romano's face was increasing in color and darkness, infuriating him even more as Hawaii sighed exasperatedly and New York shoved New Jersey's face.

"There's always American," he suggested.

Veneziano made a face. "I don't want McDonalds." Romano agreed. He was not touching that greasy crap with a thirty-nine and a half foot pole. But the look the states sent their way made it very clear how offended they were of that statement.

Hawaii pressed her lips together in a little pout that would have been cute, but her eyes said murder. "Why is it that McDonalds is automatically assumed to be the only American food?"

"Blame D.C.," New Jersey muttered as he pressed the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "Blame the rise of capitalism. Blame the Great Depression. Blame the world wars."

"There were no McDonalds during the world wars," New York pointed out.

"They were the reason we became the police of the world," New Jersey argued.

"Moving on," Hawaii insisted.

New York agreed and turned back to two nations. "There's a diner just down the street. Are you interested in dining with us and realizing the error of your ways."

Romano did not like to be corrected, especially in the sure-footed way New York seemed to be planning. He sighed out of his nose. But he did want to talk to New Jersey. Swallowing his pride down, he spat out, "Fine."

New Jersey smirked. "What about you, Nathan?"

The new boy glared at New Jersey over his glasses and past the bear paw that was batting at his check and asking for food. "Like I'll make it up to Quebec before the sun sets. Of course."

Hawaii smiled at Veneziano. "Do you want to bring anyone else? I know Europe's pretty close together. It's like the size of Texas," she added unnecessarily.

Veneziano's eyes lit up and he opened his goddamn mouth to squeal out that infernal potato bastard's name like he'd been doing since _forever_. Swiftly, Romano cuffed him over the head so that he knew exactly what Romano thought of that.

"Fratello~" he whined anyway. "I wanted to invite Germany and maybe Big Brother Spain."

"No. I want a simple quiet dinner tonight for once during a meeting," Romano snarled even though he knew that even if he wanted Spain to come, he was out drinking with his stupid friends. Not that Romano would ever want that ditzy bastard around him.

Veneziano still pouted, but at a nod from New York, they followed the assortment of states out of the building. Veneziano flounced over to the new boy and began to chatter his ear off. The boy seemed to have a very stunted vocabulary of English and Veneziano's heavily accented words made it easy for him to tune out. Meanwhile, Romano was walking silently next to New Jersey, who was almost skipping as they walked for an underground staircase.

As they boarded the subway (Romano keeping a firm hand on Veneziano's collar so that he couldn't get lost...hopefully), New Jersey turned to him, a sly smirk on his face. Then in Italian, he asked, "Can you read English?"

Romano frowned at him, much like he had when he had first personally met the state. "What?"

New Jersey shook his head. "Of course not. What am I thinking? You and your brother won't be able to read the English on the menus."

"Ve~" Veneziano butted in. He'd been trying (and failing) to spin around the nice little twirly stick they put in the car see see, fratello? with Romano's hold on his collar. "I can read English. Luddy taught me how!"

Romano scowled and jerked back on Veneziano's collar, ignoring the that hurt, fratello~ that resulted from his actions.

New Jersey shook his head. "No no no. It'd be better if Tom and I ordered for you. Wouldn't want you messing up on your order and getting something you hated, right?"

New York muttered something to Hawaii, most likely in English. The polar bear that had been in Nathan's arms was now sitting on the ground of the subway, leaning heavily against Nathan's legs. Nathan was on his phone, casually leaning against the pole after Veneziano noticed the stones outside the window with the pretty paint on it and look look there're artists here too, fratello.

Sighing and rolling his eyes skyward, Romano counted to ten nice and slow and reminded himself that he really liked this annoying little brother.

When he opened his eyes, New Jersey was smirking at him. "Sound like a deal?"

Romano's eyes narrowed. "You're going to do it whether I agree or not."

New Jersey nodded sagely. "It'll be hard to mask that heavy Italian acc-."

The reason the rest of his sentence turned into a jumbled up mess of sounds was because a large person slammed into him as the train jumped a bit. Before New Jersey even got his footing, the person was already muttering, most likely having heard their less than quiet discussion in Italian, "Damn greaseballs, you're in America fucking speak English."

Rage was an emotion very well known to Romano and as were the many expressions of rage of his neighbors. The best was when the rage was not directed at him and he could sit back and watch two nations fight for the better part of the day. It always interested him when meeting new people what exactly their rage expression was. For a scary second as New Jersey's rage face began to appear, Romano thought it was directed towards him. But when the tissue paper thin calm over a boiling over volcano expression turned around to face the person who had thudded into them, Romano wondered what exactly they had said to piss New Jersey off.

"Excuse you?" he demanded loud enough in English is garner the attention of those around them. "I didn't hear you. Could you try that once more."

He sneered down at New Jersey. While New Jersey was leaner, he was hefty and solid as a rock. "I said," he said with a little bit of a swagger, "that since you goombahs are in America, you hafta speak English."

"What did you call my friend?"

"I was including you in there too, princess."

"Oh really? Could you repeat that name you called me then. I'm afraid my hearing is going," New Jersey said, leaning in close to his face. New York was just now turning around, reaching a hand out to stop his brother.

"I said to speak fucking English. If you wanted to speak Italian, you'd go back to Italy, Guido." He spat on New Jersey's face.

New Jersey just stayed still as the wetness hit his cheek. Then as some of the crowd around them cheered on the brute, New Jersey took a deep breath in. Before he could lunge at him, New York had his muscular arms wrapped tightly around his brother's frame, boxing in his arms. New York tried to pull New Jersey away, but the state was going mad, lunging and hissing at the stranger, who was just laughing at his frantic attempts.

"Romano," New York shouted over New Jersey's hysterical shouting about the history of immigration in New York and how he'd better be fucking thankful that there were Italian immigrants who made his damn shoes and designed that stupid suit he was wearing. "A little help please."

To help would mean to have to let go of Veneziano, something Romano did not do after the last time in England when Veneziano had traveled the train the whole day instead of going to the conference because he'd wanted to see the Big Ben again...and again...and again. But this was looking to be a fight and Veneziano did not like fights and would probably stay where Romano let go of him. So Romano let go of him and pushed between New Jersey and the stranger, who just grinned down at Romano as though he were a little puppy who thought he could go against a wolf.

"And what d'ya think you'll be able to do, huh? Princess?"

It wasn't because of the last insult that Romano punched him. No it was because he was bigoted asshole and New Jersey looked almost ready to cry as he continued to yell about equality and the 1950's (which Romano did not understand how they fit into context, but English was not his finest language and could have gotten the whole exchange wrong anyway). It was a very nice punch too, square on the man's cheekbone, making the skin split beneath his knuckles. And Romano didn't stay around to see the jerks reaction, instead taking Veneziano's hand and tugging him after Nathan, New York, New Jersey, and Hawaii. He kept on badgering Romano with questions about why there was blood on his knuckles and he better not have punched anyone; they didn't need to get involved with International affairs again. But over the ramblings of his brother, he could hear the snarling response of the brute.

"Yeah, run away, faggot."

"See you in Hell, bastardo," Romano said easily as he tugging on Veneziano's hand harder. They met up with the rest of them on the other end of the subway. New Jersey was sitting in a seat, his hands over his eyes. New York was squatting in front of him, his hands resting lightly on New Jersey's knees. Hawaii was standing with Nathan, trying to explain what had happened.

New Jersey was whimpering and New York was soothing him. Romano hung back, shushing Veneziano so that he could at least get an idea of what happened.

"Did you hear him, Tom?"

"I know, Aidan."

"He's so stupid."

"A lot of people like that are."

"I hope he rots in Hell."

"That's a common wish."

"English wasn't the first language spoken over here. Dutch wasn't even the first. No one knows because those fucking idiots just killed off everyone."

"Aidan, it's okay."

"No it's not because everyone forgets Native America. She doesn't even come to visit anymore."

"She hasn't been on this side of the Appalachians since before the French and Indian War."

"I know."

"I don't think Romano knew what that man meant."

"So? He shouldn't have said anything like that."

"Freedom of speech, Aidan."

"Everyone is created equal, Tom."

New York's face fell. He ran a hand through his hair and his eyes flickered down to the dirty subway car's floor before looking at his brother once again. "Not everyone."

New Jersey peeked down at him and their eyes met. After a few minutes, New Jersey sighed and nodded. "Yeah I know."

And that was when Romano decided that the American States were absolutely fucking crazy.

New Jersey turned and smiled a little sadly at Romano and Veneziano who, for once during this whole trip, was silent. "Sorry about that. I don't normally fight. That's more of Savannah's style."

New York laughed and stood up. "That's our sister to the west. She lives in Tennessee."

Romano nodded as though he knew where that was. The train started slowing down and New York nodded to the doors. "We're getting off here."

Once out of the train, Veneziano skipped ahead only to be pulled back as his hand was still grasped firmly in Romano's. The latter was walking next to New Jersey as they pushed to get up to the street level. New Jersey kept on glancing at the hand that was holding Veneziano's suspiciously. Romano started to feel as though New Jersey was judging him.

"Do you want to hold my hand too?" he asked irritatedly.

New Jersey flinched at the bite in his voice, but didn't stop looking at his hand. "Is that blood on your hand?"

Romano looked down and oh yeah, that was that hand. "Yeah," he said nonchalantly as though it was no big deal because it wasn't.

"Is it yours?" New Jersey asked and that made more sense about why he was so hung up on it.

Romano shook his head. "No. That idiot's back there."

New York looked over worriedly. "Did he try to punch you after we left? He just seemed all talk no action. I'm sorry."

"No. He didn't punch me. I punched him."

New Jersey asked almost as though he didn't want to know the answer. "Why?"

Romano stared at him. Why? Why had he punched the bastard other than his punching people meter had been falling quickly? There must have been another reason. So why did he?

(Well he knew the answer, but he wasn't about to tell New Jersey the reason).

"He was being mean, ve~" Veneziano said helpfully.

Okay, he could roll with that. Romano nodded in agreement. Instead of dropping it, New Jersey blanched. "You could understand what he was saying?"

"I can speak English," he raised an eyebrow with his statement. That was the language they were speaking in, right?

"No I meant the insults."

"What insults?"

New Jersey pressed his lips together. "I don't want to repeat them. They were really old insults. Like from the 50's."

"I'm assuming that they were about being Italian."

New Jersey sighed. "There's a lot of cultural movements going on right now in the U.S. It's frustrating how close we can be, but one person can turn all that progress around with one little speech or sentence."

"Land of the free," New York said softly. "A culture founded from oppression."

New Jersey hummed and they continued on their walk to a diner that had better have the best food Romano had ever tasted.

~*~

The boy next to him was crying into his sleeve. France didn't even acknowledge him outside of the one time he had to check the mirror on his side and found that he was blocking it. He had shifted away diligently, but France could see the tears on the window sil.

He didn't say anything. It wasn't his place.

They finally reached their destination and France took a moment to study the house. It was small, very traditional looking. Wide and narrow shape. A traditional saltbox house with rectangle build in front and a sloping roof on top. It looked new, but France guessed that it was rather old. It was pretty far out of the Windsor area. The grounds looked as though they hadn't really been looked after, but there might have been a space behind the house for a garden in the spring.

The boy pulled out of his haze. He didn't address anyone in general, but asked for his wheelchair. England ended up having to get it, as Canada was busy adjusting the sleeping boy into his arms to carry him into the building. The boy in the passenger seat tried to get into his wheelchair by himself, and refused to accept help from France or England until Canada said his name softly.

"It's getting late," he whispered, subconsciously resting his head against the head of the boy cradled in his arms. The other boy watched, looking like he'd been punched in the stomach. He turned away, but allowed France to reach over and help him into the chair that England was holding still.

The boy wheeled himself up the stone pathway to his house. He stopped at the stoop. Then, with a little bit of maneuvering, he turned around and faced France and England.

His chin was up and the light from the porch shone off of the tear tracks on his face. "I promise that you will get the answers you want. I know we, my siblings and I, haven't made it all that easy to get an idea. Just so you know, there is a lot of emotions tied to what I will tell you and I will only tolerate questions when I feel like it. I haven't shut the world out for two hundred years just for it to barrel back in because Alfred was being stupid.

"But before I even get to that," the boy said, "there's another issue."

France and England exchanged looks. How many issues were there going to be?

The boy sighs. "I can just feel you misusing my pronouns. I don't care how accepting your culture is, but if you're going to talk about me, please use they pronouns. Example: I like their shoes versus I like his shoes. My name is Sam. Do not call me Samuel or Samantha. If you call me that or Connecticut, I will cut off your balls and feed them to the coyotes."

With that, he- no they- turned around and unlocked their front door. With skill, they were able to get up the stairs and into their house. Obviously it wasn't their first time in a wheelchair. The rest of them filed in.

The front hallway wasn't large, just big enough for Sam to wheel his chair through to the kitchen. They all followed, partially because France at least didn't really know what to do in this strange house. Sam was fiddling with a tea pot on the stove and an electronic coffee maker. "Francis, Arthur, tea? Matt coffee?"

"Hot chocolate," the boy in Canada's arms mumbled.

"I know," Sam said. "Help Matt set up the couch bed in the other room."

The two of them left, leaving England, France, and Sam in the crowded kitchen. He looked up- _They_ looked up silently studying them. "Are you hungry? Of course you're hungry. We drove right through dinner. And your dinner's earlier too. I have cornbread and um beef jerky somewhere. I can pop some popcorn or make some kettle corn."

"Oh god no!" the other boy shouted. "If you want something cooked, I'll do it."

"Shut up, Owen. My cooking's just fine."

Owen snorted and muttered something that France couldn't make out. Sam was still frowning out the window. England had gone to sit on a stool at the peninsula. Sam suddenly smiled and stood up and limped for the wall that had two doors. They opened the thinner of the two and dug around in there as France took the wheelchair and pushed it over to him. Once they had found what they needed, they turned around and almost fell over the chair. They frowned at it for a second and then looked up to France. They looked annoyed, almost as if France being a little overbearing and protective was something they knew and didn't like.

Then they shook their head. "The concussion's healed."

"What about your ankle?"

He looked down. "That'll take some time to heal."

"Do you have any crutches?"

He- They shook hi-their head. "I have a brace in my room. Hey Owen! Can you get my brace?"

"Sure," Owen shouted back, just as the tea kettle began to whistle. Sam limped over and began to pour hot water into four of the waiting mugs.

"I have English Breakfast," they said, reaching up to a cabinet above their stove. "Or lemon tea. I think Vicky had the last of the black tea the last time we were here."

"I'll have English Breakfast," England said, strangely subdued. France chuckled.

"What a surprise Angleterre, I'll have lemon tea, Sam." France didn't miss the tiny giddy smile that appeared on their face as they turned away.

Owen returned with the brace and Sam busied themself with strapping it on as Owen began mixing cocoa powder into the last mug of water. Sam poured the coffee into a mug for Canada when they were finished with the brace. Once everyone had their drinks and Sam found the beef jerky and cornbread he-they had been looking for, they went collectively and sat in the sitting room. Sam and Owen sat on the fold-away bed. England in the sturdy rocking chair by the fireplace. Canada was sitting with France on the other small couch, his feet propped up on the bed.

Sam sighed and cracked his-their neck. "Where should we start?"

"Let's start at the very beginning," Owen hummed from his position sandwiched by his brother and the couch.

Sam smirked. "A very good place to start."

Then they rubbed their nose with one finger and stared at the mantle piece for a long stretch of time. There was no sound from anyone; they could all see the years passing through Sam's eyes.

"Purple mountains," they whispered at last, breaking the spell of silence. "That's the first thing I saw. The mountains were always purple."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: Brown (Italian). Brown symbolizes comfort and reliability.
> 
> I do not regret any movie or song quoting. Also while the misuse of Sam's pronouns was intentional, it was really hard to write/catch myself writing.
> 
> (I also forgot to update on Monday, so y'all get two chapters in one go)


	7. Morado

"Her name was Niantic," Sam started, lying down on their back, legs stretching out. "She found me with her brother, Mohegan, while they were scouting out the settlement in Windsor. Mohegan was going to leave me because I was so pale and didn't look a thing like any babies he'd seen in his tribe. I was little, barely could walk. At first Niantic listened to reason. But she could not be Niantic if she listened easily. So she picked me up and took me home. She named me for the river she pulled me out of: Connecticut, long river.

"I lived with her for a long time. Her, East, Mohegan, Montauk, Pequot, and I all lived together when we unified under Mohegan. We had tried to find my tribe, but Niantic seemed to understand before I did. Whenever I told her that home was on the other side of the river, she would just shake her head and say she could not go there.

"The Pequot War errupted soon after Niantic found me, and Mohegan left Pequot's house and sided with the English. East, Niantic, and Montauk went home, with me in tow. I don't remember alot of the war, but I do remember that I started growing up afterwards. Niantic got weirder. She barely let out of her sight or the tribe in general. I didn't learn until later that it was because two boys that spoke the language I was born speaking had come around looking for me. Well not me, but something like me. Niantic, before she let me leave, told me they had been looking for another boy."

"Aren't you...a boy?" England asked.

Sam closed their eyes. "Remember how I asked for you to use they pronouns? I like those pronouns because I feel as if I have no gender and they reflect that. I was biologically born a girl, but recently have been taking testosterone and had top surgery a few years ago."

"Oh," England said softly.

There was silence again as Sam took a moment to breathe. Then their eyes flickered open. "Around the time that I grew stronger, I was able to speak all the languages of the natives surrounding us with no prior teaching. Niantic worried more and more as the days turned into months and the months into years. I was physically age 10 for a really long time, but mentally I knew I was much older than that. Niantic never counted the years. She said it was no use if we could never die. Later I found out I was 22 years old at that time.

"A boy came to the tribe with another girl. He looked just like this dork right here," Sam said, poking a dozing Owen in the side. Owen grumbled and swatted the hand away. "They both spoke Narragansett, but the girl could speak the dialect of Mohegan that Niantic spoke. I guess that's what made her trust them. We met; the boy was from the north and named Massachusetts. The girl was from the east and was named Rhode Island. They told me about their lives and I told them about mine. They both lived together in Boston where their chief sometimes visited, and they could speak the language I was born speaking. And...Well... Niantic had always told me about a sort of home she felt with her siblings that I could never feel and I know she knew why. But I had finally found it in these two strangers and I wasn't about to let that go, no matter how much I loved Niantic."

Sam took a deep breath and their eyes closed now and in a broken voice whispered, "So I went back to Boston with them.

"I had never left Connecticut, and the feeling as though I left my heart behind bothered me into restlessness as we traveled to Boston. Before we left, Massachusetts had changed into traditional Puritan style dress. I had never seen such clothes, and I asked if I was expected to wear them. He told me only if I felt comfortable. Rhode Island didn't change her clothes and she hasn't really even in 2013. But I wanted to look like my new brother and I told him as much. So I wore the clothes, I learned the culture, I was taught to read and write, and I missed home. The feeling of emptiness was something that just became the norm, and the leaders ignoring me because I looked like a girl was new and increasingly unwelcome. But I never went home."

Sam's face began to increase in hue as they continued on with their story. "It was about 1659 when I first met the British Empire. He was...accommodating of me. Built me a house in Hartford, right in view of this massive oak tree that I was told never to climb. And yeah I listened. What else would I have done? I was a little girl. Years later, the Dominion of New England was being set up by King James whatever freaking number he was. Andros came to Hartford, and he demanded the charter for symbolic reasons. My charter was handed through the window to a man on horseback named Wadsworth when the candles went out. He picked me up from my house and told me he needed to hide me and the charter. i told him about my oak tree. We raced there. I jumped off when he stopped. He handed me the charter and told me to hide it and myself, somewhere no one would find me. Then he rode off. I placed the charter in the hole of the tree and climbed up as high as I could, even though my dress ripped a bit. I got up to the top, just before the branches thinned out and waved a little too much. I was there for two days until Alfred came to find me. Two years later, the Dominion of New England was dissolved and I brought the charter back. They made a copy and sent me home with the original.

"So then the...ahem Boston Tea Party. Um at uh that time...there was only a few colonies that weren't represented by Alfred as the royal colonies. Me, Rhode, Pennsylvania, Delaware, and Maryland were still around. The other colonies, besides Virginia, had all been around for a while before their charter was taken away and they disappeared. Massachusetts' charter was taken away during the Dominion. After it fell, a royal charter was issued.

"When the actual fighting of the the Revolution happened, Pennsylvania, Delaware, and Maryland had been gone for a few years. It was just me, Rhode, and Alfred. Well, and Prussia and France, but they came later as I'm sure you know. I'm not going to talk about the Revolution. I don't like talking about it. So you can stop worrying about being painted as a villain, England."

Sam now sat up, obviously having enough of laying on the ground staring up at the ceiling. Canada could feel his eyes starting to droop and he yawned loudly. Sam looked over, a small smile on their face.

"You can go to sleep, Matt," they whispered. "You've already heard the story."

"Our brother will kill me if he found out I fell asleep while you and Mass were with France and England." Canada yawned again. "Finish up the damn story, eh?"

Sam yawned, big and silent. The sound they made next sounded like a noise a frog would make in the back of their throat. Owen next to them started to giggle at the sound. Sam frowned down at the curled up state, who still was still giggling.

Ignoring their brother, Sam looked once at England and then down at their feet. "After the Constitution was signed, the rest of the states appeared again, but they were little. Babies. No memories of ever being colonies. So it was me, Alfred, and Rhode raising eleven other states. Granted they grew quickly, but I just don't do babies, and Rhode only knew so much about raising them. In 1787, a policy that Alfred created was put into place and we were wiped from existence from an outsiders point of view. Now it's 2013 and the policy is null because of reasons and I'll tell you more in the morning. There's two guest bedrooms at the top of the stairs to the right. Matt, you can sleep in mine or Mass's bed. He's taller, so you might want to sleep there. We changed the sheets two weeks ago in the guest bedrooms, but Matt, you'll have to get sheets from the cabinet next to the bathroom. Stay out of the attic. Breakfast is cranberry juice, maple cured bacon, cornbread, and toast."

Massachusetts whined in the back of his throat. "We had that this morning."

"No we didn't. You had a million omelets; I had oatmeal. If you want something different, go out a' buy something."

"Ugh. That's worse~"

"Whatever. If you're up before six in the morning, please stay in your room, or stay quiet. Goodnight. Bonne nuit."

Canada smiled at Sam's heavy Quebec accent, but motioned with his head for France and England to follow him up the stairs to the rooms. France had clearly noticed it too, and he raised an eyebrow at Canada. "Do all Americans speak French with that heavy accent?" he asked as they ascended up the stairs.

Canada smiled back. "No. They've just had a lot of French Canadian immigrants in recent years. Before that they could speak French with the accent they were first taught."

"When did they learn French?"

 _You taught them_ Canada thought. "I don't know, but they were never that good at it."

"They just-"

Canada smirked as they reached the second floor. "Good night is one of the first things you're taught over here."

France looked dubious. "Well, wasn't I here during the Revolution? I think I would have taught them, yes? Better than that barbarian language they grew up speaking."

The hand that had been reaching out for a pile of blankets froze for a moment. Canada grabbed them and turned to England, who had been silent for the majority of the discussion, even after the jab at his language. "England?"

He looked up, green eyes conflicted and lonesome. "I was the British Empire that he-they were talking about, right? I knew them. But I don't remember."

Canada bit his lip. "I think you should hold your questions until the morning. For Sam. I don't think they'd be happy if I was discussing this without them."

England looked dejected, but France just looked suspicious and wary. "What secret are you still harboring?"

"It's been a long day," Canada whispered. "The guest bedrooms are behind you. Goodnight."

~*~

They managed to get a table, Maya and Nathan sitting on the ends, Aidan and Tom sitting across from the Italian brothers. Romano was sitting to Maya's right, glaring over at Aidan, who had told the hostess they only needed four menus and one kid one (which Veneziano was drawing on now, making an incredible work of art out of some shitty restaurant crayons somehow). Kumajiro was sitting next to Nathan after they had convinced the hostess that he was Nathan's service dog. Maya was a little dubious about it, but Tom had leaned over and told the hostess something quietly and they had let them in without another word. She was reviewing the menu as Aidan leafed through his, picking out an appropriate meal for Romano.

"What do you think about scrapple?" Aidan asked, grinning evilly at Romano, but the question was posed for Tom, who just shook his head.

"Just give him a chicken dish and Spanish rice."

Aidan snorted. "Hell no."

"Language."

"English."

"Thank you for that."

"We brought them here to show them the traditional American cuisine, not some silly European dish."

"Technically," Tom muttered, "scrapple is German."

"No it's not," Aidan denied. Romano raised an eyebrow. "It's Pennsylvanian."

"Pennsylvanian Germans then," Tom appeased. "Do you think Veneziano will like challah bread?"

"Only with home fries." Aidan grinned again. "What about pizza?"

"Absolutely not," Tom said without looking up from his menu.

Romano squinted at Tom. "What is wrong with pizza?"

Ignoring him, Tom looked directly at Aidan and Maya. "No one at this table is having pizza."

Maya pouted. "Tom~! This is like the first place that actually has decent Mauhi."

"No. Pizza. Pick another dish, Maya."

"Hello! I'm your waitress, Is-" a bright green eyed girl said as she approached, a light accent in her words and in the swing of her hips. Her eyes were drawn right to Tom and she pouted, hands in fists on her hips. "Thomas Jones. It's been too long."

"Isabel Salazar Mendoza," Tom smiled. "I didn't know you were working tonight."

The girl blushed happily and smiled proudly. "Actually, it's Isabel Mendoza-Ricci now. Salazar-Ricci didn't really sound all that good to Chiara."

Tom's jaw dropped. "When did you get married? Why wasn't I invited?"

Isabel shook her head. "The wedding isn't until Chiara's mamá can come in. I've just been using it; getting used to it. Papi is so happy for me."

"I'm happy for you too, but god girl. How old are you two?"

Isabel shrugged one shoulder, her ponytail slid back off of her shoulder. "Chiara's 23. 'm 25."

Tom didn't look all that confortable with her statement, but Aidan leaned over, elbowing Tom in the stomach. "Don't mind him, _dulzura_. He's old enough to remember people marrying at thirteen."

Tom shoved Aidan back as Maya and Isabel laughed. "I will pour ice water down your pants again."

Isabel laughed heartily after that, before she glanced down the table and gasped. "Oh you have people with you. I'm your waitress, Isabel. Can I get you any drinks?"

"I'll have a coke," Tom said. "Uh, they'll-" he said indicating the two Italian brothers "-have two vanilla egg creams."

Aidan nodded his approval. "I'll have a sprite, please."

"Hot chocolate," Maya said, absent mindedly rubbing her arms where goosebumbs were breaking out.

Aidan smirked at her as Isabel turned to Nathan, who ordered an iced coffee. Isabel looked a little concerned as she wrote down his order, but didn't say anything.

"Are you ready to order dinner while I'm here?"

Tom nodded. "I'll have a hamburger, cheddar cheese, mayo, mustard, pickles, and lettuce and-"

"We're out of tomatoes," Isabel cut in.

"And steak fries," Tom finished. "I didn't order tomatoes."

"Just sort of a forewarning."

"Was your finacee working today?"

"She's still working, actually."

"Ooh," Aidan jumped in. "Then I want her eggs benedict, rye bread, and home fries."

"Mm-hmm. And you?" Isabel asked Maya.

Wrinkling her nose at the menu, Maya looked up. "I'll have a cod with lemongrass seasoning if you have it."

"Side?"

"Coleslaw, please."

"Okay," she said, turning to Romano. "And you, sir?"

"Ah he'll have the Manhatten Clam Chowder and a salad as a side," Aidan cut in. Isabel frowned and turned to Aidan, her forehead wrinkling in confusion.

Her head tilted. "Can they not speak English?"

"It's their first time eating American. Our treat," Aidan said smugly.

Isabel's eyes brightened and she turned to the two of them excitedly. "Where are you from?"

Before they got the chance to answer, Tom looked over to Isabel. "Italy."

She frowned, still looking at Tom as though she wasn't sure if he was trying to tell her something. "Where in Italy?"

"Literally Italy."

Isabel's eyes lit up and she looked as though all her dreams had come true. "Oh my gosh! Really? Oh wow! Oh Chiara's going to be so jealous when I tell her. Um uh... _Benvenuto_." She smiled brightly.

Veneziano smiled brightly at her and fired off rapid Italian to her as his brother turned to Aidan. "How many people in America can speak Italian, exactly?"

"We told you," Aidan said, as Tom cut through Veneziano's speech, "I'm 1.7% and Tom's somewhere around 4%."

Isabel, who had been turning white at Veneziano's excited chattering, looked up to Aidan and Romano. "Actually, Chiara taught me that. And few other sayings, but she refuses to speak for a long time because I 'butcher' the language. Anyway, what does he want?"

"French toast, challah bread, and home fries," Tom answered, collecting the menus from around the table.

"Confectionary sugar?"

Tom looked up at her. "I probably should have said Alice's french toast. That'll be easier for you."

Isabel laughed and nodded. "And you sir?"

"Club sandwich and steak fries," Nathan whispered, picking at his sleeve.

Isabel smiled and bounced off to the swinging kitchen doors. Tom pulled out his phone and starting checking his emails while Aidan turned his placemat over and used one of Veneziano's crayons to set up a game of hangman. Nathan looked at Maya across the table, looking really uncomfortable. Romano was watching Aidan as his brother continued to draw.

Maya looked to Tom. "I think Romano would like a little bit more of an explanation."

Tom looked up. "Oh, uh I babysat Isabel and her brother when they were younger, and since having a babysitter that stayed eighteen for ten years was a little confusing, I had to explain it to her father. And Isabel speaks Spanish at home which is why her father wasn't anxious to find another babysitter who could teach English and speak Spanish fluently. So, she knows that you're countries and we're states and provinces. Chiara is from Italy, and she and Isabel met in preschool. I think Isabel would have proposed, but you never really know with Chiara. Alice is Chiara's younger sister."

"And what was the issue with pizza?" Romano asked, obviously still hung up on it.

"I don't know," Maya muttered, poking at her napkin. "All I know is that I had to get a fish dish rather than a Mauhi."

Aidan rolled his eyes. "Maya, you eat fish all the time."

"But I love their Mauhi. Everywhere else puts too much pineapples on it- it's disgusting."

Tom glared at the two of them. "They both know why I did not want any pizza served to this table."

"Enlighten me," Romano hissed.

Tom looked at him from the corner of of his eyes and sighed, looking back down to his phone. "I didn't want dinner to be spent arguing over the goddamn thickness of the pizza dough."

"Ve~" Veneziano perked up. "What?"

Tom was still looking at his phone. "American food is often very relatable to European dishes, especially in the mid-Atlantic and New England, or the North East. Our pizza, especially New York style pizza, isn't that different from the pizza that originated in Italy, but it's still enough. Our crusts are thicker, we put more toppings on, little things like that. The last time Aidan and I took Isabel and Chiara out to eat at a pizzeria, Chiara spent the whole time grousing about the thickness of the pizza."

"It was cute," Aidan said, pushing the hangman game to Maya, "for the first ten minutes. Isabel was trying to make her eat it, saying it's not too bad, _mi corazón_ , but then she wouldn't let it go and that was the last time we saw Chiara."

"She's really lovely," Maya murmured. "The one time I met her, she barely said a thing." She looked at the game. "A," she said pushing it back.

Aidan and Tom snorted. "She was a little freaked out at the time, to be honest," Tom said. "You'd shown up right when we sat her down to explain why her girlfriend's babysitter was still eighteen."

Aidan shook his head. "Not a latin alphabet." He pushed it back.

"I wondered why there was only one space per word. What language?"

"Korean," he smirked.

Maya rolled her eyes. "Geuneun naleul miwohaneun geos-ibnida."

Aidan scowled deeper. "I hate you."

As she reached over and drew in the symbols, Aidan looked up to Romano. "Maya's always really good at hangman. It's disturbing how easily she can come up with the answer. You want to try her?"

Romano frowned. "I only know Italian."

Aidan smirked. "She's not so good at European languages. Do you know how to play?" Aidan took the paper from Maya and explained the game as she quickly ran as many Italian words she knew through her mind. It wasn't a lot, admittedly. She was going to get crushed.

~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title: Purple in Spanish. Purple represents enlightenment and wisdom.  
>  (Also Mauhi is Hawaiian pizza)


	8. Wapeyu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (so remember a few chapters ago when I mentioned that there was another character that has an unidentified eating disorder) There is a purge in this chapter so trigger warning for the second to last section. Also I hope I didn't end up romanticizing it.

Alfred could feel his hands shaking as he pulled onto the highway. Sarah was curled up in the passenger seat, one hand curled in the ends of her hair, hopefully sleeping. Victoria was leaning against the side of the car, not asleep, but not awake. Her legs had taken the biggest hit, but her side and left arm were still pretty cut up. Alfred had toyed with the idea of calling Sam, but after deciding that they were probably asleep or not in the mood to talk, Alfred didn't. Instead, he called Tom.

When Tom picked up, it sounded as though he were on a subway and Alfred privately hoped that he had just stayed out really late for dinner and the meeting had ended soon after he had left. "'Sup, Alfred?"

"Please tell me you're on your way home."

"Yeah yeah. We just finished dinner and we're going back to the hotel now."

"Hotel?" Alfred switched lanes. "Why are you staying at a hotel?"

There was silence on the line before Tom swore under his breath.

"Tom?"

"How's everyone over there? Maya and Aidan are trying to run me over."

Why was Maya there? Alfred sighed and let Tom change the subject. "Put me on speaker."

"Okay, you're good," Tom said, his voice a little more distant.

"Hey Aidan and Maya. So, recap on what happened, Owen and Sam went with Matt and Francis and Arthur to their place down in Windsor. Taylor took Zach up to zirs capital. Sarah and Victoria are in the car with me and we're going to Providence. Sam got a concussion, Zach had a panic attack, Sarah was..." he glanced over at the not-sleeping-Sarah, "...is okay I guess, but Vicky had a lot of lacerations. Her legs are cut up pretty badly. Oh and policy 17nk87os is null and void."

There was a suspicious noise from- maybe? probably Aidan that sounded like, "Thank goodness."

Alfred stilled in his seats and he could almost see Maya wincing through the phone. Fighting to keep his voice neutral, he asked, "So, what happened at the meeting? Did Ge-Ludwig yell at you guys?"

"We showed off our fabulous lying skills," Aidan said. "But apparently a missionary's son can't know as many languages fluently as I do, so they saw right through that."

"-Then Maya showed up, intending to go to Boston-"

"-And she and Tom had a little hissy fit-"

"It was not a hissy fit!"

"-Then Aidan got up on the table and spilled the beans-"

"-And Maya showed off her tattoo-"

"-And Ger-Ludwig called off the meeting when Nathan showed up-"

"-Then we went to dinner with-"

_"Shh!"_

Alfred froze. "So you told them about who you really are?" Keeping calm was really hard right about now. Victoria...he had to think about her...he needed to get her home safe.

"Well after the Italies-"

 _"Shut up!"_ Tom said. There was two dull thwacks following his statement.

Alfred's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. "What about the Italies."

"Uh..."

"Well, you see, Romano said something really funny about Tom-"

"-it wasn't that funny-"

"-and then everyone wanted to play the how-many-languages-can-Aidan-speak game-"

"-and Maya called asking where I was-"

"-and I look over and Romano and Veneziano are smirking at me as Tom leaves and you told us not to do that and you should be really angry at Tom and not me-"

"STOP!" Alfred roared, making Victoria jump in the back seat and stare at the enraged nation. There was silence on the line as he took a moment to breathe. They are alright. They are safe. Whatever happened, whatever they're about to tell him about, the Italies did not hurt them. They are okay. "Alright, now one of you- just one -is going to tell me exactly what happened. No hemming or hawing. I need to know what happened."

After a silence, Aidan's voice spoke up over the clamor of the subway. "Romano and Veneziano figured out we were states before I could say anything. And after the meeting, they had some questions for us and we invited them to dinner because they thought American food was just McDonalds which is probably because you take it to lunch every time there's a meeting because it's the only fast-food restaurant chain around the world and yeah if you brought some like scrapple or a sub they might not think that. But we had dinner at Isabel's Diner- she's getting married fyi -and now we're walking them back to their hotel because they might get lost and NYC is just so pretty at night."

Alfred rubbed his forehead. "I'm assuming they heard the whole thing?"

"Ciao," Romano drawled irritably. "Veneziano's asleep."

"Hi. Is Nathan there?"

"Hey D.C."

"Hello to you too, Nathan. Is there anyone else listening in on this conversation?"

There was a collective murmur in the negative. Alfred sighed. "Okay, Nathan, are you going to be staying the night at Tom's place?"

"Yes."

"Did you grab Kumajiro before you left the conference room? Matt'll be hysterical if you left him there."

"What do you take me for, D.C.? Of course I grabbed him. Or rather he grabbed me."

"Text Matt and tell him that. Ask him to call me when he wakes up if he's not up right now. Thank you."

"No problem."

"Romano, it was lovely talking to you."

"Same to you, bastard."

"If you could tell Germany that I am taking a leave of absence for the next week, that'd be great."

Romano scoffed, but didn't say anything more.

"States." Alfred paused a moment as he pulled off of the highway and onto the back roads of northern Rhode Island. "I'll talk to you in the morning. Don't do anything stupider than you already have done." 

"G'night, D.C.," Maya chirped.

Alfred hung up and sighed heavily. Victoria mimicked his sigh, but hers was of relief, not of stress and frustration. He looked at her through the rear-view mirror. "Feeling better?"

She nodded sleepily.

"We're going to be home in just a bit, Vicky," he said, his voice trembling. "I promise."

~*~

Good food always made Veneziano sleepy, and the french toast the nice boy had ordered for him was too good. And the pretty server who had spoken Italian was really nice, and Romano only punched one person today.

It was a good day.

Better even because Romano wasn't fussing about his choice of roommate, and was gently supporting the half-alseep Veneziano.

"Vene," he said softly. Nothing about Romano was _soft_. "Where's your room key?"

"Fratello~ Are you thinking?"

"Idiota, where are your keys. It's almost midnight."

"No it's not. New York said it was only ten when we left the restaurant."

Romano sighed and his tone lost the soft layer to it, the one that always meant that he was thinking. "That's still too late to be arguing outside of your hotel room. We might wake up the potato bastard."

"Ve~ He's not a potato bastard. He's really nice and sweet. You should like him more, Roma."

Romano was probably scowling, but Veneziano's eyes were tired and they slid shut. "Your key, Vene."

Veneziano produced the plastic card and handed it over to his brother, settling his head more securely on Romano's shoulder. A second later, Roma jerked his shoulder, making his head fall off of it.

"Enough of that, Veneziano. Go on." His brother pushed him through the door. "See you in the morning, Buona notte."

"Buona notte, Roma~"

~*~

D.C. surely wasn't up at two A.M., right?

Sarah's hands tightened around her blankets and she pulled into herself a little more.

If he heard her, he'd ask why. Obviously, she wouldn't tell him the truth, maybe that she had a nightmare about WWII? No that wouldn't work. He'd make her go back into therapy, and that she could not do.

She pressed herself back into the heavy blankets D.C. had wrapped her up in. A minute ticked by.

Fuck it. She'd just have to be quiet. 

Sarah threw back the blankets of the bed and eased out of the huge cushiony comfort and onto the thick carpet covering the old wood floors. She was shaking lightly, maybe from the cold, maybe it was from the antsy feeling in her body. She raced silently to the bathroom.

She kneeled in front of the pristine toilet bowl and forced a finger down her throat. Her eyes were closed and she only felt it leaving her body through her other senses. She was filled with the desperate thought of _out, it needs to get out, can't let it stay._

The cold tiles pressed into her knees, and the warmth that her hands had left on the toilet bowl. There was no light outside of the window to the bathroom, but the moon filtered through the hall's window, harshly cutting through the darkness. Sarah can't see it, not from where she is. The light casts down like a triangle, square reflected on the dusty carpet runner that someone had bought someone from Southern New England.

Isn't that strange? That when reflected, the life-giving light that crested over the world when Sarah had to pretend only showed how isolated she really was from the rest of her region. This wasn't her house. This was Victoria's, and Sam's, and Owen's. She only had a place in Augusta and an apartment in Washington D.C. if she ever felt the need to ask for it, but even then it'd just be on Maine Ave. She was so different from the rest of New England. Even though both she and Zachary weren't a part of the original thirteen, zie fit in better than she ever could. Owen only saw her as his little sister. Hell, her territory used to be his. Why did they suddenly decide they needed another state? It would have saved Victoria the trouble of having to raise her, anyway.

And the moon was still there, it was still craning its neck to see her, in all of her pitiful glory because when the sun fell, so did her defenses. So it wasn't the state of Maine sitting on the floor of Victoria's bathroom. It was Sarah Jones, a little seventeen year old girl who couldn't put up with this shit anymore. The state of Maine couldn't control the world around her, but _Sarah_ , at least, _that_ she could control.

Tears and vomit never really mixed well together, Sarah thinks grimly as she pushes herself back up to stand. She flushes the toilet and winces when it echoes loudly through the still house. She brushes her teeth and avoids the large mirror Sam probably splurged on because they've been obsessed with their appearance ever since they got their surgery.

She goes back to the guest bedroom. The blankets are cold now and don't hug as close to her as if they know what she lied about, and are disgusted with her. They wouldn't be the first.

The moonlight stretched across the hall and tries to enter the room she is in, but it doesn't get past half an inch from the door. Because Sarah can be scary if she needs to, and it doesn't take anything to scare away a little bit of reflected light.

~*~

It was before five when England woke up. He had enough to do on his phone, though, as he dutifully waited for six o'clock. After answering a rather long email, he looked up to see that it was closer to seven than six. He got up and braced himself for a rather awkward talk with Sam and...France.

He tried to be quiet; they were up late last night and their time was behind his internal clock. Massachusetts was still on the bed, sheets rucked up around the upper half of his body, his feet hanging out. Impulsively, England took another blanket off of the floor and draped it over him.

He could smell a sickeningly sweet smell along with the familiar greasy scent of bacon emanating from the kitchen. His stomach turned. What could possibly be appetizing about that?

Upon his entrance into the kitchen, he saw France, an apron wrapped around his front, standing in front of a griddle and frowning in concentration as Sam, seated at the peninsula, was attempted to hide their smile behind a mug.

"What are you cooking, frog?"

France turned around, expression one of horror and disgust. "I am merely cooking the breakfast. According to Sam, you taught them to cook." A more intense look of disgust. "I was not going to subject my pallet to such terrible cooking this early in the morning."

Sam snickered, obviously in a better mood than they were in last night. "I told you, Niantic taught me how to cook, but England taught me how to cook colonial food."

France turned to them and still shook his head. "I do not know this Niantic, but your brother was very adamant that you not cook last night."

England rolled his eyes and ignored the blush staining his cheeks and neck. "Either way, what are you cooking, frog? It smells terrible."

"That's what I said," France said, his nose scrunching up. "But Sam said that it smells like it's supposed to."

Sam frowned and glanced between the two of them. "Do you- Do you not have maple cured bacon in Europe?"

"We have bacon," England affirmed while France just made a face.

"But not maple cured?" Sam guessed. When they nodded, they tsked. "Matt would be disappointed. He, Nathan, and Jayden eat through it when they come over."

"Nathan? Jayden?"

Sam waved a hand. "Quebec and New Brunswick. There's cornbread 'nd cranberry juice if you want it. France broke my toaster, so if you want toast you'll have to cook it on the stove."

England frowned at France. "How'd you break his toaster?"

France turned to him. "I did not break _their_ toaster."

England clapped a hand over his eyes and his blush worsened. "Fuck. I said he, didn't I?" He turned to Sam, who was studying their cup as though it was the most interesting thing in the world. "I'm sorry for that, Sam."

Sam blinked and looked up rapidly. "Uhm...you're welcome I guess? It's nothing I haven't heard before. Everyone gets a little confused, even Zach did. I know I did. Just as long as you don't mean to, I won't take offense."

England took a plate off of the pile as France turned back to his griddle. "You shouldn't have to," France whispered. "Worry about your pronouns, I mean."

Sam's eyes sharpened and then they ducked their head, a hand covering their mouth. Their shoulders shook and England turned to them. He placed a hand on their shoulder and felt them take a deep breath in. "I've waited for over two hundred...years to talk to you an-and-and I was so _mean_ yesterday when I asked, buh-buh-but you just...you're just using my pronouns and you ap-apologized. You _apologized_ for making a mistake. I didn't- I wished- I hoped. But I didn't know anything. And I got to talk to you for the first time in two hundred plus y-years and I'd been waiting and waiting-" They buried their head in their arms.

England and France gave them a moment. England did not take any of the offered bacon from France, but did take a small loaf of cornbread. France, rather than gather more breakfast, turned off the skillet and began to clean it.

Sam perked up just as England was finishing, and they went over to the sink and ran water into their hands and rubbed their face. They stayed leaning over the counter, water dripped off of their nose, breathing hard. "Are you-" They cleared their throat. "Are you just about finished?"

England nodded. "Yes. What about you, Franceypants?"

"I already ate while we were waiting for you, Angleterre."

Sam nodded and clapped their hands. "Okay, so uh, we're going to go up to the attic and uh give you back your memories."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title: White in the Passamaquoddy-Maliseet language (Maine). White symbolizes purity, death (Eastern cultures), and a cold/clinical feel.


	9. Gris

England followed the two up the stairs and up a rickety ladder to an attic. It wasn't dusty, like most attics were. The collections of stuff were clearly separated into three different sections of the attic. Sam walked to the farthest section from the hatch. They knealt before a chest and, instead of unlocking it, they slammed a fist onto it. The lid popped open. There was one little window just above Sam's head, the pale pink of the winter morning fading into the dreary room.

"Here," Sam said, holding out a vial to each of them. "Drink this. It'll restore your memories."

France frowned at the murky grey liquid in the vial offered to him. "All of it?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

France made a disgusted face, but uncapped the vial and swallowed it down. When he didn't freeze up in distaste, England followed suit. The taste surprised him. It was bittersweet; the taste in general ranged as he drank. First it was tea and biscuts, then sweet apples and it filled him with all the brightness of a sun unchecked by tall buildings. It tasted of burnt gravy and over-stewed turkey, with all the power behind the wind that brought a ship to port, then sweet corn and ale. It was firecake and too strong whiskey, and the crushing feeling of betrayal and hurt and anger, but mostly confusion; a recurring mantra of _why? what_ did _I_ do _?_

England pulled the flask away and wiped at his mouth messily, gasping for breath. Sam looked at him with an expression of either guilt or longing. France had finished his flask, but his eyes were shut tight and his expression was one of pain. England couldn't understand that. France had not lost a colony, yet his memories were harsh as well.

"You have to finish it," Sam whispered.

England steeled himself and raised the flask back to his mouth. He hesitated before closing his nose off with his fingers and downed the rest of it as though it was vile medicine he had to take in order to kill a fever. It only tasted like tea this time.

Sam took the empty vial and held it up to the light. They frowned a little before turning and putting it back in the chest among other filled flasks. "I'll miss it," they muttered to themself.

"Miss what?" France said, his voice tight and bitter. England couldn't remember anything and he wondered to himself if his memories would be gone for good. "Us not knowing about you?"

Sam's head jerked up and he shook his head hurriedly. "No. I've been looking forward to this. I'll just miss the solutions. They-" Sam cut themself off. "-uh...they were colorful and Vickie used to joke about hanging them up around the house so that I wouldn't have to come up here just to see them. I used to group them up by the window and and clean as the light went through them. Yours were the brightest. I don't know why."

France frowned at Sam. "They were _gray_."

Instead of responding, Sam reached back into the chest and pulled out a flask. They read the name on the side (in probably the worst handwriting England had ever seen). They snorted and then looked back up at France. "Only when you haven't visited them for a while."

They held out their hand, flask balancing easily in the hollow of their palm. They looked up and to the left, their eyes far away again. There was a little smile on their face. The flask in their hand started to change color. Yellows, oranges, reds, and greens chased around each other in the middle portion of the liquid as Sam's smile grew. Abruptly, their smile fell and the colors in the flask faded a bit as blues and purples swirled at the base of it. Sam's eyes shut and the flask faded into white and gray. They tilted their head up to the ceiling as the hand holding the vial lowered. They gathered in a breath, holding it in the cavities of their cheeks and slowly let it out before they glanced at France and England again.

France was still staring at the flask. "How did you do that?"

Sam shrugged. "I share some of their memories. Native America was trying to explain it, but I wasn't really listening."

"Whose memories are those?"

"Prussia's."

England frowned. "Why do you have Prussia's memories?"

Sam just turned to put the flask away. When they had finished, still facing the chest, they asked sofly. "So do you have any questions for me?"

"I taught you French," France said in a rush, staring at Sam as though they were about to disappear.

Sam nodded. "You did."

"During a war."

"The Revolutionary War. The French and Indian War we were on opposite sides."

"Why did I teach you French?"

Sam's shoulders tightened. "I asked."

" _Pourquoi_?"

England missed Sam's reply. His ears were ringing as finally his memories sorted themselves out. Sam had said something, but that was wrong...? Why was it wrong? But it was wrong. It was so wrong. England knew that in his _bones_. Why had Sam said anything differently? That wasn't like her-him- _them!_

"You said I was _accommodating_?" England said disgusted. He might have cut across someone, but this intense feeling of wrongness was blinding him. " _Accommodating_? That's all I get? I gave you back your charter. I built you that godforsaken house that you're not even living in anymore. I let you have so much freedom, and you just...you just sided with _him_! You wouldn't even listen to me! I was ignored for what? Letting you live your own life over here in the New World?!"

He didn't see the tightening in Sam's shoulders, or the way that they hunched in against England's rage. Because it was rage now. Because England was hurt and confused and enraged that Sam wasn't saying anything and they were just facing away from him now. They had the gall to act as though they had done nothing wrong.

"Angleterre," France said harshly.

England glared at France, blinking away the rising moisture in his eyes that was not because of Sam and their incompetence. What made them think that he would be fine after regaining the memories of their betrayal? "What do you want, you frog?"

"You scaring hi-them," France accused. Sam shifted a little at that and his fingers began tapping on the side of his leg.

"Well if they think that-"

"Nuqut, nis, shwi," Sam said, turning around and grabbing England's and France's wrists.

The house around them blew up, or rather exploded out. Nothing broke, but the boards and nails that made up the building separated rapidly before spinning around them as though they were the eye of a tornado. England thought of Canada and Massachusetts briefly before his attention was riveted back to his old colony. Sam's grip was tightening on them, and their messy dusk red hair seemed to be boiling in the wind surrounding them. They grinned deviously, their crystalline green eyes widening as they took in the carnage they were undeniably causing.

"Stop this!" England screamed, but Sam only tilted their head slightly to the side. France was frozen in abject horror at Sam's antics.

The swirling debris around them was starting to flatten out, more like a planet's rings rather than the previous funnel shape it had been. Sam was changing. Their eyes were brown and smaller; their hair was straight and golden blonde, much like England's own hair color. Their hair was almost to their waist, except for one wild piece of hair, much like America's own cowlick, that stretched up to the sky. They were a little tanner, younger, a little shorter, a little more feminine. Sam turned their head to see their hair and they smiled at England and France again.

"Páyaq."

The debris disappeared in a intense hurricane-like blast of wind, leaving the three standing on the top of a hill, overlooking a glittering river and a city port by it. Sam dropped their arms and started walking down the hill, leaving England and France to scramble after them.

"What the fuck was that?" England asked as France regained a little color. Sam turned around. It was weird and familiar to see them like this; weird because he'd just seen their transformation, but he didn't understand why it would be familiar. "Where are we?"

"1657 era Hartford," they smirked.

"Why do you look different?"

Connecticut rolled their eyes. "The ethnic groups in my house vary with the decades. Just before the Revolution, I looked like a female version of you and you could barely tell me or Rhode apart. Right now, there's still a lot of Dutch and Native Americans. The English are still a minority. In present, there's more Irish, Italian, and Polish than English. I think French was climbing..." they mused to themself as they turned and continued walking. "I'll have to check. Could be French Canadian..."

"Don't you dare walk away from me!"

"If you want answers to your questions, I'd follow me. We have two minutes."

"Until what?" England demanded as France began to walk after Connecticut and was forced to jog after them.

~*~

Headaches were not a good thing to wake up with.

Headaches were not a good thing when trying to understand Veneziano's rapid speech.

Headaches were also not a good thing when Veneziano expected him to respond.

Honestly, if Germany had known that asking how the dinner went last night was going to spiral into this (and he should have known- it's Veneziano), he never would have asked.

"Veneziano," Germany said, cutting across the rather detailed description of what happened on the way to dinner (Veneziano hadn't even gotten to actually sitting down and sharing the meal yet, oh no, he had to build up to. One word answers were a foreign concept to the bubbly Italian), "I don't need to know about who Romano punched."

"Ve~ Germany, but Roma only punched one person, _solo una_! And the boy with the ponytail was yelling while he-"

And there he went again, chattering about absolutely nothing of interest to Germany. Rubbing his face and groaning into his hands softly, Germany cut across Veneziano again. "Did you talk to America at any point last night?"

"Hm?" Veneziano said, stopping his description of why the boy with the ponytail was shouting. "Oh! Yeah... he called the other boy, but not the other boy that came at the end, the one that was angry and then was sad."

"New Jersey?"

"Sure!"

Germany rubbed his forehead once more, trying to get the cuckoo clock makers to stop hammering for a second. "Did he say anything about when he's coming back?"

"Ve~ I was kinda asleep then. I think he told Roma something~ You should ask him."

The only useful piece of information that could have come from the dinner last night was with the other half of the nation in front of him, who actively hated his guts and on more than one occasion has threatened bodily harm to him.

 _Great_.

~*~

"Um...hey guys, you aren't answering at your Boston place, but uh- Ash an' I were-"

 _Delete_.

-IL and MI

"Geez I hope you guys are asleep and not like _dying_ in Bos-"

 _Delete_.

-WI

"Oh my god why won't you pick up! No I will not calm down, Addison~th-"

 _Delete_.

-ND and SD

"Hey guys, we heard what happened on the news. Hope you're okay. I'll try again tomorrow. Bye."

 _Delete_.

-MS, AL, and LA

"Santa mierda chicos, Diego acaba de ver las noticias. ¿Le parece bien? Por favor llame~"

 _Delete_.

-NM and AZ

~*~

Sam really liked making things difficult for others to understand and they really liked making themself out to seem insane as they did so. And although they _hated_ their younger body, they were willing to put up with it right now even if to only drive France and England insane.

France was at their side, attempting to keep up with Sam and still dodge the shades around him. England was a little farther behind, having gotten caught gawking at the old fashioned town around him. Sam felt like skipping as they broke through the city limits. It was something England had always told them that ladies did not do, and Sam had always gotten vindictive pleasure from going against England, even in the present. So they skipped, high and proud, towards their old house.

"Hurry up, you two~! Don't want you to get lost!"

Once they reached the house, Sam suspended the time around them for a moment as they waited for the two countries to join them. When they did, Sam looked down at their watch (which was still showing the time that it was back at home because they were in a sense still in their old attic, but they'd just altered the appearance). They tsked. "We're late."

"For what?' England demanded, huffing and puffing.

Sam blinked at him owlishly. "My homecoming party of course! You've already brought me home from Boston, and we're currently in the sitting room pretending the tea that you insisted I try to make is actually drinkable. You gave me a little white apron with an embroidered pocket. I haven't spilled anything yet, I don't think."

They opened the door and pranced into their old mansion, the two countries following whom they probably perceived as their only way home. They found them staring at the little tea party set up on Connecticut Colony's brand-spankin' new coffee table. British Empire (who was really just England but after years of separating the two, because one they had fought, the other they had loved, Sam just habitually named him as so) was posed in the action of reaching for a burnt scone that they had spent all of the afternoon before they had left for Hartford baking with Massachusetts and Rhode Island. Connecticut Colony was trying to sit like a little lady would and Sam could remember the intense discomfort they had always felt when pretending to do so after years of being Niantic's little one. She, Connecticut Colony, was about to see the strong arms of the oak tree and ask if England wanted to go climb the tree because that's what they would ask Niantic and Niantic would always say yes even if she had something really difficult to take care of at that moment in time.

Sam let time run, and the events ran just as they had known they would. These were their memories, after all.

After the Connecticut Colony had asked and started to ramble, British Empire sat up straight, scone forgotten. "Connecticut," he said gravely, "I don't want to hear anymore about 'Niantic', understood. She is your inferior and you should not speak about them as though they are an equal."

Samantha pulled away from The British Empire as though his words had stung her physically. "But she's my friend. And I'm her-"

"No."

She jumped violently at the harsh tone, the badly made tea spilling over the edges of the teacup and splashing onto her new apron.

"You are my colony," The British Empire said, eyes boring into Samantha. "That means you listen to my rules. There are loads of other countries out there who would do worse to you than I could ever bring myself to do right now. I'm telling you, Samantha, that you must listen to me if you wish to live here by yourself. No talking to any of the Indians alone or outside of your little meetings with your governor. And do not climb anymore trees, it's not ladylike."

Now, Sam could see that he had just been trying to protect Samantha, but back then, Sam had only felt sinking despair because they had wanted to impress England, but they loved Niantic. So, Samantha had only bowed her head and nodded meekly to him.

The next thirty years passed in a blink of an eye from Sam, as they were in control of the flow of time, but England and France seemed a little thrown at the sudden noise and new location outside the old court house in the late evening, when it was dark enough to barely be able to see without the help of candles.

Sam did not flinch as Joseph Wadsworth, waiting on his horse at the corner of the building, suddenly sprang to life and raced towards the window the three of them were standing in front of. France and England, however, did flinch rapidly away from the shade. A window was thrown open as he passed and a hand, grasping the charter, jutted out for Wadsworth to intercept.

Wadsworth grabbed the paper and spurred his horse on. A voice, most likely connected to the hand, shouted out after him, "She's at the house. Make sure she's safe!"

The scene around them kept on moving with Wadsworth, almost as though they were viewing it from a camera. France, seemingly having given up on trying to understand what in the hell was going on, just stared blankly. England could feel the magic coursing through the air, Sam knew he could. They weren't trying to actively shield it, and England had always been more perceptive of Sam's magic than Sam had ever been.

Wadsworth jumped off of his horse, when he reached the house. He bounded up to the front door and banged loudly on the doors, locked and barred for safety. Sam remembered sitting by a candle, anxiously watching the direction their courthouse was. News traveled fast between the states, and they could feel England in the area, but England had not visited them. When Wadsworth had knocked, they'd jolted out of their seat, knocking the candle over.

From where they were standing, the three of them could hear loud thuds from behind the door. Wadsworth glanced over his shoulder just as Connecticut Colony opened the door, extremely meekly. "Joseph?" she asked. "What-?"

Wadsworth bowed quickly to the little girl. "Miss Kirkland, we must go."

Connecticut Colony stepped out of the safety of the door and glanced towards the street as Wadsworth jumped up on his horse. "Where? I can feel Bri-"

"Miss Kirkland," Wadsworth said again, holding a hand down to her, "we really need to go. They're right behind me."

Connecticut Colony stared up at him bewildered. "Who? I thought...he'd-"

Wadsworth jerked and glanced behind him again. "Miss Kirkland, I am sorry, but I cannot answer any questions now. We have to get you and your charter to safety."

"He wouldn't," she whispered, looking to Wadsworth, her green eyes wide and hut. Her green eyes were identical to the ones of the man beside Sam. Said man was frozen as he watched, most likely matching up his memories with the scene in front of him. France was looking confused and a little bored, but more apprehensive than anything.

"Miss Kirkland, now!" Wadsworth said forcefully, stretching out his hand for Connecticut Colony to grasp. Her eyes were filling with tears and she took Wadsworth's hands. He lifted her up to sit in front of him and spurred on his horse. The three spectators traveled with the two as they had before.

While they were racing for the oak tree, Wadsworth dug the charter out of his saddle bag and pressed it into Connecticut Colony's hands. She looked at it in confusion, but, after she had read the title, she hugged it to her chest and scrunched up her face.

They pulled up to a stop at the oak tree. Wadsworth's horse cantered in place before he stilled enough to let Wadsworth set Connecticut Colony down.

"Hide," he told the little girl. "Yourself and the charter. I'll tried to lead them away, okay?"

She nodded and Wadsworth spurred his horse again and they took off. Connecticut Colony looked around in the dark of the night, feeling incredibly alone with only the cold sinking feeling of being the only one there to accompany her. The charter was stared at for a few seconds until the flap of a bat's wings made the nervous girl jump. She shoved the charter in a hollow of the tree. She reached up for a branch to start to climb, but an ugly sound tore out of her throat.

Her hands clasped around her mouth and she bent over into herself, lungs shuddering with her silent sobs. She leaned back to stare up at the sky, to see the stars hidden behind the clouds and the moon that hid its face from her. Sam could feel the tears that ran down their face when they looked up and the feeling of abandonment swept through them just as it had on that night. It felt as though the world was just going to watch her die.

Emotional episode aside, Connecticut Colony reached up again to start to climb. She got to halfway up the tree when she hugged the trunk and projected her shields, like Niantic had taught her.

The night was silent for a few minutes, as were the two nations on either side of Sam. Eventually, England cleared his throat.

"Cuh-"

"SAMANTHA!" echoed through the night. The shout, loud and distraught, came from the house over looking the oak tree; the house British Empire gave to Connecticut Colony. "Samantha?! Where are you?!"

"I was tearing apart the house," England whispered dazedly.

Sam jumped a little, not expecting a comment to be made.

"Samantha, please ANSWER ME!"

England was staring ahead and down, not really anything, almost as if he were seeing his own memories before his eyes. "I was so afraid that I wouldn't find you. That you'd...fade alone. I was there with Massachusetts and..."

"'Mantha! PLEASE! Where _are_ you?"

England looked incredibly sad as he stared at the same spot. "I hated myself for letting that happen."

"CONNECTICUT!"

Sam remembered shivering in the arms of the tree, trying to convince themself that they needed to stay hidden and that British Empire was only going to kill them if they appeared now.

"And all that time," England said, pulling out of his thoughts, "you were in the fucking tree." He and Sam looked at each other. England shook his head lightly before looking back to the shades. "I should've known. I should've checked there before anything. You loved that stupid tree."

"Where are you? CONNECTICUT! Please..."

England looked down. "Change it, Sam. We've seen enough."

~*~

Tom woke up to a thoughtful Aidan.

Quite literally. The idiot had draped his upper torso over Tom's chest as the latter had slept. Aidan was frowning up at the ceiling of the apartment and only looked at Tom when he was shoved and flicked by the latter (which did nothing to move him as Aidan was several inches taller than him).

Aidan blinked and looked at his brother. "Oh hey Tom."

Tom rolled his eyes. " _Oh hey Tom it's not like I'm sleeping on top of you or anything_ ," he mocked.

Aidan groaned. "That's not what I sound like! No matter how many times I tell you and Sam, you never listen."

" _That's not what I sound like._ GET OFF!"

"Get _awff_ ," Aidan mocked back. But he did sit up so that Tom could get out of his bed and check on the rest of the guests. Nathan would just be waking up; Maya would still be asleep. It's the bear he was the most worried about. As Tom was leaving the room, Aidan called out, "Hey."

Tom looked over his shoulder as he adjusted the collar of his nightshirt. Aidan was sitting on his knees and watching Tom. "Yes?"

"Um...I just-" Aidan said and then frowned down at his lap. "I kinda want to um see Romano again. And maybe, y'know...Get to know Netherlands and Sweden a little better. Is that weird?"

 _It's not_ , Tom thought. "It wouldn't be any weirder than anything else you've ever done," he said instead as he left the room.

~*~

The phone rang just as Canada sat down with his breakfast. Owen looked up from his list and sighed, motioning for Canada to hand him the landline. Even though he knew who it was, or least an idea of who it would be, he glanced at the caller ID.

"Hey Destiny," he greeted.

"Finally," was hissed through the phone. "My god, Owen, you have us such a scare. Why are you in CT?"

Owen rolled his eyes and poked at his leftover breakfast. "I think you saw the news, or rather, I _know_ you saw the news. D.C. didn't want us to stay in Mass. Besides, Sam's telling England and France about us right now, and they wanted to do in Windsor."

"Wait _what_?" was shouted into the phone and Owen pulled the phone away from his ear for a second. "Mia, leave me alone, I'm talking to Owen...yes they're fine. _Fucking_ -Liam!"

"OWEN!" Liam shouted into the phone. "Why didn't you pick up when I called?"

Owen checked over the list. "What time did you call? And where?"

"I called at like eight when we got back from Houston."

He sighed heavily, running a finger down his list. "Eastern Standard Time or Mountain Time?"

There was a silence and then an "oooh~"

Owen snickered. "Give Dest' back her phone."

There was a little fumbling and then Destiny's voice returned. "Wait, wait, so _Sam_ is telling _who_ _what_ about us?"

He chewed a bite of bacon. "Hmm? Oh yeah England and France showed up with D.C. and Canada. Questions were asked, Sam flipped their shit, 'nd then this morning, the three of them were in the attic."

After a moment, Destiny sighed heavily. "Why does talking to you always leave me with a headache?"

"Sam says it's the accent."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title: Gray in French. Gray symbolizes old age and sadness


	10. Wisôwáyuw

Five seconds after Victoria managed to convince D.C. to leave, the door opened again. She stared incredulously up at the ceiling. D.C. had never been _this_ fussy. She turned her head to chatize him again for ignoring what she told him, his human name falling from her lips just as she realized who was standing in the doorway. Maine stood, looking small and fragile, just outside the door.

"Sarah?" Victoria asked, reaching out a hand toward her little sister. "What's wrong?"

Maine timidly stepped into the room, eventually taking Victoria's hand. "Are you okay?"

Victoria smiled tiredly and ran the pad of her thumb over the back of Maine's hand. "'Tis but a scratch, honey bee."

Maine perched herself on the edge of the bed. She looked doubtful. "I was worried for you."

"If I had been capable of higher order thinking," Victoria said wryly, "I would have been crazy with worry as well."

Maine looked down and toed the carpet. She looked guilty and Victoria knew exactly why. She tugged on Maine's hand a little harder and lifted her other arm. Maine turned to look at her, frowning slightly. "C'mere," Victoria said softly. Maine, after staring at Victoria for a moment, plastered herself to Victoria's side, her head pillowed on Victoria's chest. Maine moved her legs a little closer, jarring the healing wounds, making Victoria hiss.

"I'm so sorry," Maine said as she jerked almost completely away from Victoria.

Victoria pulled her back. "Hush, honey bee. You just startled me. It's okay, just mind the legs."

Carefully, Maine tucked herself next to Victoria once more, her legs curled up a good distance from the latter's. Victoria looked up to the ceiling and wondered about Sam. D.C. had said that they were telling England and France the truth. For the fourth time that day, Victoria cursed whoever set the bombs and the injury that was inflicted on her. She could do nothing to help Sam now. They had always helped each other; they, Sam, had, reportedly, been in hysterics upon waking up to find that she was still in surgery. Victoria needed to get better, needed to reassure Sam. They were all going to be okay. Nothing would take her away now.

~*~

"I've declared Independence," the girl said softly as she stood in front of the fire. Her brown curly hair was tied back into a braid, a red ribbon wrapped around the end.

Samantha, sitting stiffly in the seat next to the coffee table, placed her teacup on the saucer in her hand. Her hair was dark gold and shorter, tied off into two pigtails just past her shoulders. "So I've heard," she said softly, looking down to the hardwood floors.

The other girl turned. She had the same green eyes of Samantha. She seemed disappointed in her sister. "Are you going to?"

"I will do what my legislature decides," Samantha said without looking up.

The other girl, familiar to France but the name was escaping him, scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Samantha, don't do this. Don't just sit by like you've been doing since the Dominion."

Samantha glared up at her sister. "Don't tell me what to do, _Tory_."

The other girl's shoulders pushed back and her face twisted as though she was eating a lemon. "I don't appreciate being called a Tory."

"I don't appreciate being called Samantha, Victoria."

Ah, Victoire, that's who that was. The little firey colony that was determined to have her own way. France smiled fondly. Sam, the present day Connecticut next to him, quietly murmured. "That's me 'n' Rhode Island."

"What are you two talking about?" England asked, looking as though he had an idea. Sam glanced at him and then the scene, where the two sisters were still glaring at each other.

Sam looked down. "Um...this is 1776...early 1776...the colony of Rhode Island recently declared independence from Great Britain...Oh did you mean when I called her 'Tory'? That was the nickname for loyalists during the revolution. Rhode was the first to declare independence and she hated that I could make that nickname out of her name. Even presently she won't respond to Tory. Alfred's tried enough times."

Samantha finally dropped her sister's gaze and took a sip from her tea cup. "Are you sending delegates to Pennsylvania?" she asked lightly, glancing once up at her sister.

Victoire, still stinging from the jibe from Samantha, tilted her head marginally to the side. "What for? Last time we tried that-"

"It's different this time. Lexington and Concord hadn't happened back then."

Victoire stilled. "How?"

Samantha looked up through her eyelashes at her. "We're going to fight."

Victoire brightened at that. "Good."

"Good?" Samantha asked incredulously. "How is that good?" She stood up, setting her tea cup on the table in front of her.

"How is it not?" Victoire asked.

Samantha stared at her sister as though she had lost her mind. "We're just a hodge podge of colonists going against the greatest goddamn military in the world. We don't have the resources or training to actually win. When this all ends, we'll be wiped out, just like Owen and Tom."

"You don't know that-"

"My God, Victoria. Stop being so naive. We can't fight against the British Empire and expect to win."

Victoire frowned at her sister. "So? Just ask for help from another power."

Samantha sat down again, a hand over her forehead. "Brilliant, Victoria. I'm incredibly proud."

Insulted Victoire stamped her foot. "It's not that hard. I'll just ask-"

"Who? What nation would go against the British Empire for a handful of colonies? Wait, you're not going to ask _France,_ are you? Why, that's a great idea. Why didn't I think of that?"

Slightly insulted, France agreed with Victoire as the girl exclaimed, "What's wrong with France?"

"Nothing's wrong with the _personification_. But what happens after a war? Debts...debts to nations that could easily take control of us if we cannot pay them. And we will not be able to pay for them after the war. Why don't we just declare ourselves French colonies now. How's _your_ French?"

Victoire rolled her eyes. France was a little amused and resisted the urge to glance at present-day Connecticut, who was most likely blushing as bad as Romano could. "Sam, now you're just being ridiculous."

"I don't want any more help than we need. If we're going to lose, let's just do it quick. I can't stand hearing them scream."

Stepping up to her sister and laying a hand on her shoulder, Victoire said, "You know Arth-"

" _British Empire_."

Samantha was glaring down at the ground, her lower lip thrust out petuantly. Victoire rolled her eyes exageratedly before shaking her head down at her sister. "It's Arthur when he still cares about us."

"He does not."

"Well he cares about you, you've always behaved perfectly well. Just his perfect little-"

Samantha slapped her sister hard. Sam was blushing furiously from where they stood and ignoring the two nations beside them. France almost felt like laughing, but England only looked distraught. Samantha pushed past Victoire, who was rubbing her cheek. Samantha made it to the door leading out of the room they were sitting in. Before she crossed the threshold, she turned her head.

"See you in Philly."

She left, leaving Victoire chuckling at her back and shaking her head in Samantha's general direction.

~*~

Zachary had heard her crying when zie woke up. Zie hadn't done anything for a while, but eventually, zie staggered out of bed and into her room. She was asleep, softly whimpering into her pillow and pounding her fists against the mattress as though it were a body. Zach kneeled by the side of her bed, a hand reaching out to shake her shoulder. She was a light sleeper and easily jerked awake, her wet eyes blinking at zir. Zie rested a hand on her cheek.

"Tay?"

She cleared her throat, but then started blubbering. "Zach~" she whined softly before tears really overcame her. One hand reached out towards zir. Zie grasped it, even though zie did not understand what was making her lose it like this.

When zie took her hand, she tugged and shifted back towards the wall, leaving just enough space for zir to climb up next to her. Zie lifted the blankets up and eased zirself onto the bed. Once zir was situated, Taylor latched herself to zir, arms constricting around zir. She was taller than zir, but she tucked her head under zirs chin and curled her knees around zirs legs. Absentmindedly, zie rubbed her back soothingly.

"We're okay, Tay. Nothing bad's happening to any of us."

Taylor still sobbed into his chest. "It wasn't- not even my- no where near- _why_?"

"Shh shh, Tay. You're okay. It was scary yesterday. But it's over and Alfred's going to rain terror down on whoever caused it. He won't let them get any closer to us."

Slowly, so painstakingly slow that Zachary thought it would take the whole day for her to relax enough so that they could get up and maybe pretend that they weren't losing their minds, Taylor's crying eased into slight sniffles.

"I got boogers on your shirt," she muttered into zirs chest.

Zachary chuckled and kissed her hair. "That's okay. I'll change when you say we can get up."

Taylor relaxed a little more. "I'm tired, Zach."

Yawning, Zachary pulled out zir phone and unlocked it. "So, sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

~*~

The next thing they saw was a Connecticut Colony in breeches and a shirt holding a rifle. She stood next to a crouching Prussia as he explained exactly how to aim the rifle. Though he had spent the beginning of every day training the Patriots, Prussia had agreed to teach Samantha after his generals were finished. Sam smiled absently when the scene came into view. This was one of their favorite memories.

"Aim for the Lobsterback behind that tree," Prussia said, pointing towards a tree a ways away from them. "Look right in his eyes."

"There's no-"

"I know that."

Connecticut Colony smiled softly to herself and then squared her shoulders and adjusted the rifle. Prussia's dual color eyes flickered to her and then to the tree. He nodded at it. "Go on."

 _Bang_. _Crack_.

"Kesesese~" Prussia cackled. "I toldja. I knew you had it in you. Kesesese~ Franny owes me a drink."

Connecticut Colony lowered the tip of the rifle, careful to keep the tip away from the ground, her eyes still on the bullet hole in the middle of the tree. Prussia stood up then and clapped a hand on her back. He was still chuckling to himself, and Connecticut Colony stared up at him, respect and adoration in her eyes. He looked down at her and smiled, a genuine smile not a smirk.

He ruffled her hair. "It's supper time, _Mausi_. Let's clean up that rifle und then go find your siblings."

As they were cleaning the rifle, Sam could remember struggling with whether or not to ask, but eventually, as they finished putting the gun back together after cleaning every part, she found her courage.

"Um...Gilbert?"

" _Ja_?"

Connecticut Colony picked at her nails and twisted on foot into the dirt on the ground. "Could you...um..."

Prussia knelt near her. " _Mausi_ , you have to speak up. I can't hear you sometimes."

Connecticut Colony looked up and down quickly and swallowed hard. "I was wondering if...you could um...y'know...uh...not call me Samantha anymore." She was looking down at the ground and missed the confused and shocked look on Prussia's face.

"What would you like me to call you?" Prussia asked honestly. "Do you want me to call you Connec-"

Connecticut Colony shook her head quickly. "No...no just Sam."

"Sam?" Prussia asked. Connecticut Colony looked up. "Just Sam; no Samantha, no Samuel?"

She nodded. Prussia smiled again. "Okay, _Mausi_."

Connecticut smiled happily, but then licked her lips. "Um...Gilbert? Is uh 'mausi' for a...a girl?"

Prussia, who had stood up and turned a little bit away before Connecticut Colony called his name, turned back to her and tilted his head. "It could be for either genders. Do you not want me to use feminine nicknames or pronouns for you?"

Connecticut Colony glanced up and looked helplessly at him. "I dunno."

Prussia nodded and ruffled her hair. "Tell me when you know, okay, _Mausi_?"

Blushing hard, Connecticut Colony nodded enthusiastically and followed Prussia back to the house.

"I had a crush on him," Sam said as the three of them watched in the background as the budding family, Connecticut, Rhode Island, and America, sat down to eat with their two allies, Prussia and France, the latter of who agreed to get Prussia a beer after congratulating Samantha on her fantastic marksmanship (Prussia had looked like he was going to correct France in this moment, but one quick look at Sam shaking her head rapidly made him pause).

The two nations looked at Sam. "Who?"

Sam started snickering. "Prussia. Oh god I was so transparent. He was," they crossed their arms over their chest and looked up, "the third? Naw, second person I asked to call me Sam. I know I told Rhode, but I can't remember when I told Alfred. Hmm. Eh. He knows now."

They laughed some more before placing a hand over their eyes. "Oh god. That's embarrassing. I'm sorry you had to see that. Why did I show you that? I was annoying during the Revolution."

They glanced over at France. "D'you remember?"

France shrugged his shoulders. "It's foggy. Didn't I give you a haircut or something?"

Smiling gently at the memory, Sam nodded. "Would you like to see that?"

~*~

Owen finally bit the bullet and called Kira and Gabe after calling everyone on his list (which ended up being _all_ of the states besides those two as they could not physically call him). In actuality, he face-timed them, ignoring their increasing text messages. Kira picked up first, her expression blank and stony as usual. Her hands were sharp and forced.

_Fuck you._

Owen grinned cheekily as he added Gabe to the conversation. "I'm calling Gabe, too, so I can get this over with faster," he said, his hands shaping the air in front of him.

Kira still looked grouchy, but she always was grouchy. She folded her arms underneath each other, her way of saying that she was not going to be speaking anytime soon and that this had better be worth her time. Gabe, as always quite the opposite of their northern sister, when he picked up already was signing something to Owen.

_...I'm so mad right now. You didn't answer anything I texted you and you know what? Kylie's ready to rip your neck out if the terrorists haven't done so already._

"Wow," Owen said, hands automatically signing out the words. "Aggressive much? I've already talked to Kylie. She said nothing about ripping throats out. I was also kind of busy last night."

 _Doing what?_ Gabe huffed at the end of his sentence.

Owen paused and ran a hand through his already messed up hair. "Well~" he muttered, "Sam was in the hospital, so were Victoria and I. And Sarah too, but she was only seeing a therapist."

Kira blinked at that and her impassive face crumpled slightly. _Again?_ she signed. _I thought she was okay._

"It depends on the definition you use," Owen said softly, his hands slow and slurred. Canada, on the phone with someone, entered the room and nodded at Owen before climbing the stairs loudly to his pilfered bedroom. Seriously, the guy had it for one night and it looked more like _his_ room than Owen's!

Gabe tilted his head. _Who's there? I can hear someone else with you._

"Canada," he said, thumping lightly on his upper right chest area twice with the palm-side of his right hand. The action was repeated by his two siblings, both with disbelieving looks on their face. Then all Owen could make sense of the four flying hands in his view was...well nothing. The two of them were going at the same time and he couldn't piece the two statements together as he could do when speaking.

"Guys!" he shouted, signing rapidly _stop stop stop_. "We've been over this," he said and signed when both of their hands dropped into their laps, "I do not have four eyes with which to understand both of you at the same time with. Kira, you may go first."

 _Why is Canada there?_ she signed, frowning slightly and almost looking a little worried. _Was it that bad that you needed international help?_

"No, no, no nothing like that. He was with D.C. when Taylor called him. He, England-" signed by placing his right hand over his left hand and curling his right fingers around his left hand's pinkie , "and France- " signed by showing and "OK" sign and turning it so that the back of his hand faced the two of them- "showed up in Boston about an hour after the initial blast."

The two of them just stared at him. Gabe eventually moved, signing _England_ and _France_ weakly.

~*~

"How short, Samantha?"

Holding a fussing toddler in her lap, Sam held up a hand to just below her ear. France's fingers, which had been coming through the length of her long, wet hair, paused. Sam held her breath and dropped her hand. Delaware, in her lap, took her hand and began playing with her fingers.

"Samantha?" France asked. His voice was light with honest curiosity, no disgust at all. "Do you want me to cut your hair like Alfred's?"

Her breath caught, but she nodded.

France didn't say anything for a while, but kept on running his fingers through her hair. "It'll be a little different than his. Your hair's a little thicker, _mignon_. _Est- ce que ça va_?"

Her feet twisted together on the ladder step to the stool. " _Oui_."

France pulled a section of her hair away from her neck. She hoped he was smiling. Maybe after this she'd tell him... "Alright, here we go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: Orange in Mohegan language. Orange symbolizes something demanding of attention and warmth.


	11. Elfenbein

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of this chapter is just after the Constitution has been approved by Delaware, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey (December 1787). France and England do not see it; Sam is just thinking about it and it makes the rest of the chapter easier to understand.
> 
> Paige is Pennsylvania, Aidan is New Jersey, and Robert is Delaware

_"Miss Jones, may I have your signature?"_

_Sam, steeling themself against the feminine term of address, reached for the quill Mr. Adams was offering. They scratched out 'Samantha K. Jones' onto the bottom of the paper, below Victoria's flourishing script and Alfred's hashed out name. The other states were too small to really understand what the three oldest were instating today, but Robert could tell that Sam was upset and the boy had refused to leave their side, screaming and flailing whenever Alfred tried to take the babe out of Sam's arms. Victoria was trying to get Paige to stop crying after her nanny had tried to hold her, while Aidan pawed at Victoria's face from her arms. Victoria had hired nannies for the young states and any that would appear in the future as she and Sam were going across the pond to visit Europe for the foreseeable future. And it was getting hard to distract Paige, and all Alfred seemed to be able to do was cackle at Victoria's misfortune and her shouts at him to help her._

_The knowledge that they were leaving was kept away from the rest of the states, especially Robert. He was really clingy, as demonstrated with his present behavior. And even though Robert was the oldest of the new states, almost ten months in physical age, he did not like when his 'mommies' left him for a long time (Both had winced when the term had falled from Robert's lips; Sam because it was blatantly for a female, Victoria because she did not want to be a mother)._

_As they left the room, Robert looked up, his blue eyes bright and lively. It hurt Sam, in some deep recess of their heart. This was their brother, but they couldn't remember anything. There were no memories of traveling up to Connecticut just to comfort Sam when the dominion fell, but Owen and Taylor did not reappear. Nothing. And there would forever be nothing._

_Sam approached Robert's nanny and made to hand over the babe, but Robert once again whined and started to kick his legs about._

_Sam bounced the baby and took a step away from the nanny, who was still waiting patiently. They smoothed his bangs out of his face and tried for a smile. The resounding smile from the little boy was brighter than any Sam had ever seen on the old Delaware._ Maybe it's a good thing he doesn't remember any of the pain. At least his heart won't be broken.

_Sighing, Sam pressed a kiss to Robert's forehead and handed him off quickly enough that he was suprised for a few seconds before he started to bawl and reach his chubby arms messily towards Sam once again. But Sam was walking away, ignoring Robert's screams and the one desperate, "Mama" that fell from his lips._

_It would take months to get across the Atlantic, and a few months more after they were finished in Europe. If everything went well- which it wouldn't, it's Victoria and Sam- they'd be back in a year or so. And Sam wasn't looking forward to going to Europe and being so far away from home. They'd barely managed those years in Boston. How the Europeans had fared so well across the pond, Sam never had the courage to ask. Maybe they were just driven by the resources over here. That's why they came over here in the first place._

_"Sam, you're glaring at the wall," Victoria said softly as she slid into the space next to them. "I just got Paige to calm down. We have to go now if we're going to be on time."_

_Sam sighed and nodded._

_Policy 17nk87os was going into effect whether they agreed or not. It'd only be wise to help with the process. And Victoria was right; they needed to get going._

~*~

When Sam shifted the scene again, England didn't really know what he expected. But standing outside of his old house in London was not what he had expected. Sam was standing semi-awkwardly and rubbing their neck, looking to the ground.

"There's just two more things I want to show you guys, then we'll go back to...normal... This is 1787 London, the residence of the British Empire... this is when we took your memories..."

...Oh...

Sam nodded down the street. "Here I come."

Connecticut Colony, or rather just Connecticut at this point in history, indeed did come walking down the street. She- or was it they?- approached the gate and glanced over their shoulder. They had on a bonnet, hiding their short hair, and the rest of their outfit was reminiscent of what a lower class English woman would wear in the late 1700's.

After their quick glance, they turned back around. The gates creaked open in front of them and they slipped in, the three nations following like a creepy, floating ghost choir. The doors to the manor opened in the same fashion; they did not lay one hand on them, simply walked as though there was nothing there. They encountered no one, as England had preferred to live by himself. Still does in fact.

Connecticut made their way to his kitchen and dug out two teacups and a tray to carry them on. They poured some fragrant tea into the two cups. Chewing their lip, they reached into the pocket of their dress and pulled out a flask much like the one England had drunk from before this. They poured it into one of the tea cups and then put it away. They picked up the tray and once again traveled through the house.

They paused outside of the door to his study. This door did not automatically swing open as the others did, and they stared at it for a few seconds before taking a deep breath in and raising a hand. They knocked.

There was a pause of silence before, "Enter."

Connecticut's eyes slid shut and they looked as though they were having an internal battle with themself. Their eyes opened, steeled and driven. They pushed the door opened and walked in with power in their stride.

The old England frowned up at Connecticut before staring in shock as they moved to place the tea tray in the front of the room. "Samantha?"

"It's Sam."

The old England was still staring at them. "What are you doing here?" he asked as they brought a cup of tea over for him.

"I was in the neighborhood and I thought you would like to share a cup of tea," they pressed the cup into his hands and lifted theirs from the tray.

England set the tea on the table and stared for a while. Connecticut was stiff. "You haven't spoken to me since I gave you back your charter in the 1600's. So I'll repeat; why are you here?"

Connecticut's hardened eyes met his and they sighed forcefully out of their nose. "Fine. You caught me."

They sat down stiffly and blew over the top of their tea. "I wanted to ask why. Why did you fight? You could never do more than forcefully reprimand Alfred when he got on your nerves and _he always was on your nerves_. Why did you fight us?"

The old England cast a glance at the tea cup on the desktop. He looked up at Connecticut. "Does Alfred know you're here?"

They waved a hand, as if dismissing the question, but still answered it. "He's a little busy with the rest of the states to notice if there's only three."

"Weren't there _thirteen_ colonies?"

Again they waved a hand. "That's not what I came here to talk about. Why did you fight us?"

The old England only studied them for a second more before leaning back into their chair and picking up the tea cup. They took a sip. Connecticut's eyes narrowed in on it and then forced themself to look away. "I fought," England said, "because I was afraid that Alfred would kill you."

That took Connecticut by surprise and their spine straightened. "What do you mean?"

England scoffed as though he couldn't understand how Connecticut did not see it. "Every nation on this planet has _one_ , just one," he held up a finger to demonstrate it, "personification, excluding colonies and micro-nations. As my colonies, you were guaranteed life-"

"Oh yeah? What happened to Massachusetts? To New Hampshire?" Connecticut said, rage present in their voice. "They only had life if you kept their charter around. You even tried to ki-"

"I did no such thing," England snapped. "The Dominion of New England was my boss' idea only. I did not know he was planning on taking away your charters. Every charter taken away was an order directly from my boss. I did not wish for any of you to die. I'd say ask Massachusetts or New Hampshire, but it sounds as though they aren't around yet."

"And what would I ask them?" Connecticut snapped.

England was not fazed. He simply took a long sip of tea before looking Connecticut in the eyes. "Ask them what I did when the King took away their charter. I did not let them fade alone, I was right at their side from the moment they found out. I let them scream, fight, and cry. I put up with all that just so they would not be alone when they did fade."

Then he sat back against his armchair, tea still in his hands. He took another sip and Connecticut watched him avidly, almost anxiously. "Tell me," he leaned forward, "do you remember leading up to the Dominion of New England? I assume you do, but I'm not sure."

"I do."

"Ah... where were you the night of the 'Charter Oak' incident as they're calling it now?"

Connecticut pulled at their dress and looked at their lap. "I was up in the tree."

England leaned back again, looking up to the ceiling and shaking his head. "I should have known." He laughed bitterly and took another long sip of his tea. "Now, any other questions?"

Looking as though they were swallowing a rather bitter pill, Connecticut looked up. "If I were to leave you now forever, what would you want me to know or tell me?"

His head tilted and present-day England could remember the inkling of cold fear that had begun to creep upon him at that question. "That's a strange question."

"Please just answer it."

"Well, I suppose I'd want you to know that I am not mad at you, no matter how I acted or will act in the future. I'm incredibly proud of the woman-" here Connecticut winced slightly "-and _nation_ you and your siblings have become. You have done things that I could never manage to do. And you will do more...you are intelligent and intense. You can be stubborn." Connecticut made a face. "Oh please, don't give me that look. Who's the one who kept their charter even after it was taken away by the crown?" England chuckled and Connecticut smiled slightly, a small light of remorse or reluctance in their eyes, but they did not stop England as he took another sip of tea. The cup was almost empty. "Hmm...let's see... You are protective and don't take any shit from anyone, even Alfred.

"The United States of America- that's your new name now, yes?- is extremely blessed to have you as a state. I know I was when you were my colony." England paused and stared off into the distance, and Connecticut looked at the tea cup and seemed to have to physically restrain themself from reaching forward and knocking it out of his hands.

England looked back to them. "You are beautiful. You are powerful and _never_ let anyone tell you otherwise."

Both were blushing hard, and Connecticut was a little teary-eyed. England, most likely to save himself from some embarrassment, drank some more from his cup, leaving a small portion of the draught in the cup. Connecticut looked a little panicked, but did nothing besides prompt, "Anything else...?"

England looked thoughtfully away before looking Connecticut straight in the eyes. "If you do in fact leave this room and never return, no matter how long you are gone, no matter what happens. If your nation fails tomorrow and you fade out of existence and history. If Alfred becomes the sole personification of the United States of America. If _anything_ like that happens, I want you to know that I will remember you. I will _always_...remember you."

Connecticut gasped and turned their head down, their eyes misty and filling rapidly. England looked to the tea cup and quickly swallowed it down. Connecticut glanced up and saw the empty tea cup sitting on the desk. A tear fell down their face.

"I'm sorry," they whispered.

"Hmm?" England said, turning to look at them. "What was...?" He slumped back into his seat, eyes sliding shut. Connecticut swallowed hard and hastily got out of their seat, grabbing the tea cup. Placing it back on the tray, they left the room, tray in hand, almost as if the room was on fire. Tears were slipping down their face as they placed the tray on a table in the kitchen and hightailed it out of there. Once they were outside of the gate, they finally paused, one hand over their mouth, the other supporting their abdomen. Their lungs shuddered, similar to how they had cried when they had thought England had tried to kill them.

Sam sniffled loudly and cleared their throat. "Would you like to see the next one?"

~*~

Owen never really felt like completly breaking down and crying during this entire fiasco. Sure, he shed a few tears here and there, but mostly he was okay. Maybe it was because it wasn't surprising anymore. New York already stole his thunder like eleven years ago.

But when Victoria called him? He bawled.

He didn't stop crying for a few minutes and it sounded as though she was laughing through her tears.

He was panting and gasping when he finally got himself under control to utter a comprehensible sentence.

"I love you, Vicky. I love you so much. I'm so sorry. I just... I love you..."

Victoria was crying then and she sniffled on her end. "I love you too, Owen."

~*~

The insistent knocking at his door wasn't going to stop anytime soon, France rationalized from his position across the room, facing out a window. This would be the third time today Louis came to beg his advice and then ignore it. At least he couldn't fire him, France thought, bitterly amused, like he has done to other political figures.

December was disgusting in Versailles, he thought. Or at least it is this year.

The knocking on his door stilled somewhat and a distinctly-not-Louis voice called out, " _Monsieur France? J'ai certains thé pour vous_."

Tea is nice. Tea would be really nice right now. " _Vous pouvez entrer_."

The door opened and France turned to greet the little maid holding the tea tray, a half-assed flirtatious smile on his face. But when he took in her appearance, he only blinked.

"Victoire?"

Victoire glided over to the table in the center of her room and set down the tea tray before making herself at home in the armchair closest to the smoldering fireplace. "Francis?" she said mockingly as she picked up a cup of tea and relaxed back into the seat.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded. "It's not safe. Does Alfr-"

Victoire waved a hand dismissively, just like her sibling had done with England. "What Alfred doesn't know won't hurt him."

France stared at her before shaking his head and sitting in the love-seat next to her. "Victoire, you are part of a nation now, you have to think of them before yourself."

After a sip of her drink and a gesture towards the other cup sitting on the tray, still steaming into the air, Victoire smirked wickedly. "I'm not a part of any nation. I haven't signed the Constitution and I don't plan on it anytime soon. I'd just be better off by myself anyway. I've got good trade, and I know Sam wouldn't do anything against me.

France picked up his tea, but still stared at Victoire, almost angry. "What are you saying that you're throwing away the protection of Alfred."

"Protection my ass," Victoire hissed. France spit a little of his tea at her exclamation. "More like all he wants is to control me. He's no better than Arthur."

France stared at her. He set aside the tea. "What does Samantha think of this?"

Victoire didn't look at France. "I haven't told Sam. Or Alfred. They're just getting the union under control. They don't need to worry about me. I'll be fine."

"Victoire, I don't think you're thinking this through," France started, but Victoire cut him off.

"Look, I didn't hop across the pond to have my choices analyzed. I came here to form an alliance. So let's just have some tea and we can talk about political things."

France looked down at his lap and his twisting hands. This whole conversation wasn't sitting well with him and he almost felt as though this was something bigger than what Victoire was trying to pass it off as. She was always a talented actress. "I am not financially or politically in a position to be forming alliances with...anyone much less _you_."

Victoire flinched. "Okay," she said almost too fast. "Why don't we just have tea and then go talk to my people and your people."

"I am not really in the mood for tea," France said softly, almost sighing as he glanced back to the window he had been standing at before. He missed the flash of absolute terror and panic across Victoire's face and she bit her lip and looked to the wooden floors as though they would give her an idea.

She forced a laugh. "Oh come on, Francis. I made it just for you, just the way you like. Nothing like how Arthur taught me to make it."

France looked back at her and frowned, his eyebrows curving in towards his nose. "Arthur and I make it the same way." Victoire gulped; it would have been unnoticeable if not for how wide her eyes were. "Victoire, are you alright?"

"I'm...fine," she said carefully. Her response was too controlled. "Just let's...your tea's going to get cold and nothing's worse than cold tea in December, right?"

"Why do you want me to drink the tea?" France asked, still looking at Victoire as though she were an impossible puzzle he had to figure out. "I thought you hated tea. Didn't you dump it into Boston harbor?"

"That was more about the tax on the tea and besides only Sam was there. I was in Providence," Victoire muttered darkly. "Look, Francis, we're friends, right? And friends have tea parties together. Indulge in my need to have a tea party."

"Victoire," France said. Now his voice was worried and apprehensive as he watched the girl forcibly drink her tea. "You hated European imposition on your native culture. Why the change of heart?"

Victoire blinked rapidly and shook her head. "Just please, Francis, you have to drink it. If you don't, I'll be in so much tro-" She clapped her hands over her mouth and stared in terror at the French nation across from her. "Oh God..."

France glared at her, his form freezing and tensing. "What? Who will get you in trouble? Who sent you?"

Victoire shook her head, tears building up in her eyes.

France stilled. "Did my King send you? What did you put in the tea? Are you trying to _kill me_?" Could Louis be that confused and misinformed as to attempt to kill him?

Almost as though she were shocked by the accusation, Victoire shook her head rapidly and a cluster of sounds escaped her. Her voice got more and more hysterical and France couldn't understand anything she was saying, but it sounded as though she were repeating the same sentence over and over again.

"Victoire, in a language I can understand please," France said, forcing his voice to sound calm. It wouldn't do to work her up anymore if he wanted to actually have a chance of understanding her.

She swallowed and wiped her eyes. "I sent myself. Or, the national legislature did. I'm not here to kill you. I couldn't do that for all the world."

France believed her, but there was something she wasn't telling him. "Then why do I need to drink the tea? What's in it?"

Victoire looked to the window, ignoring the indigo eyes on her. "I guess I can tell you," she whispered and then closed her eyes and sighed. France waited. "They've put out a policy. Alfred's going to be the only representative for the United States on a global level. It was Sam's idea. We're just going to be the state personifications."

France nodded. "Why are you so sad?"

Victoire sniffled. "I'm being ridiculous," she said more to herself. "I had the entire boat ride across the Atlantic to come to terms with this."

" _Avec quoi_?"

Her eyes flickered up to his and then down to the partially forgotten tea cup. "You asked what's in the tea, yes? It's a draught that Native America made for us, Sam and I. The only thing it'll do is wipe your memories that have us in them."

"No memories of _les états-unis d'Amérique_?"

"No no no," Victoire said softly. "You'll have all of the memories; they'll just be tweaked some. You won't remember me or Sam, just Alfred. You won't remember this either," she finished, her voice small. She looked as though she was going to cry, but there were no tears in her eyes.

" _Pourquoi_?"

Victoire looked at him hopelessly, a foreign expression on her. She was always so optimistic during the Revolution, even when they were losing badly. She was always ready to remind the soldiers what they were fighting for; at their side when they were going in for amputations, when they fell in the ranks, when their last breath froze in the cold winter air. But now she looked so hopeless, like her world was crashing down around her ears and she wasn't going to try and stop it. "We're weak. The three of us. We barely managed without your help, or Prussia's. What are we going to do if one of us gets under the influence of another super power again? How will we survive? No, it's better this way. No one will know of our weaknesses and we will be strong in the face of the Empires."

"But that doesn't seem the right way to go about it," France said gently. He didn't want to forget her. It didn't seem possible that he could forget about her. She had been ingrained in his mind since the moment he went to help and when they had met, she had only raised one unimpressed eyebrow. He would miss her snappish attitude and her lady-like demeanor.

"We have to, Sam's already gone to England."

There was a pause where Victoire wouldn't look at him. " _Je vais manquer vous_."

Victoire glared at him. "No you won't. You won't be able to. It will wipe all of your memories of me. The personification of the Rhode Island and Providence Plantations will not exist in your mind. My name will have nothing attached to it. Alfred will be all you remember. So no, you cannot _possibly_ miss me. You can't miss what you don't remember."

"But, will you remember me?"

Her voice broke. "Yes." She pressed her hands to her face. "I will," she said, dejectedly muffled, "I'll remember everything. Every meal we cooked, every battle you prevented Sam and I from fighting in just because you wanted to protect us. Every stupid French conversation you and Sam had behind my back until you started teaching me too. Every prank we pulled on Alfred or Gilbert. Every time you smiled even though you knew how much debt you were incurring by helping us."

France could feel his heart breaking for her and he almost reached forward to comfort her, but instead he picked up the tea cup. "I'm sorry, Victoire."

She didn't say anything.

~*~

Sam whispered softly, after the last scene they saw, in that same language they had been chanting at the start of this...emotional roller coaster. England really need to find a place to sit and maybe a beer to drink so that the memories newly renewed and still floating without any sticking point would just fucking settle already. But first...

Sam's attic reappeared under their feet and in front of their eyes. Sheepishly, Sam shrugged and toed the ground. "So um yeah~ That's a thing..."

But first, he really needed to hug that _bastard_ in front of him who looked like they were expecting to get clouted over the head.

Sam gasped loudly when England enfolded them in his arms, resting his chin on their head and releasing a breath. Tentatively, as though still expecting to get reprimanded for it, their arms encircled England and pulled him closer.

"You're an arse."

"I know."

"You git."

Sam sniffled. "I am so-"

"Don't you dare say you're sorry,

He was not crying, okay. This stupid attic was too dusty. Sam should clean it more often, but if they clean like America then that would explain the dust. "Pillock."

Sam _was_ crying, though. Just tiny tears, but their chest hiccuped with them as they muttered, "I don't know what that means~"

A very _French_ sigh of empathy followed their words and a very _French_ nation came up to envelop Sam, and England as he was not letting go of Sam now, with a simpering exclamation of, " _Mon lapin_ ~"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: Ivory in German. Ivory symbolizes unity, pleasantness and quiet
> 
> Ugh mass post so that I could get this up to speed with FF.net. Enjoy


	12. Chapter 12

They didn't know how long it was going to last, but the states were very good working under red alert. The nations still in NYC had their security doubled up by D.C.'s secret service and were banned from leaving the city limits. England, France, and Canada were to remain in Windsor with Sam and Owen until D.C. could give them the clear to go to NYC. D.C. was in Boston with the police force hunting down the two culprits, after having dropped of Victoria and Maine to their preferred home; Maine to Augusta and Victoria to Windsor.

New York got in touch with Pennsylvania and told her what was going on. She called late afternoon of the last day. She and Victoria were on the phone all through dinner. Victoria was able to reacquaint herself with France and England, but didn't do much more than rest her head on Sam's shoulder while they talked to the two nations.

They were sitting in the living room, Victoria's feet propped up on Canada's lap, her back and head resting against Sam's side. England sat in the rocking chair and the gentle creak of the wood as he rocked and the sounds of running water from Owen and France as they cleaned the dishes from dinner wove underneath the conversation.

As Sam was getting to discussing why Louisiana had chosen the human name of _Samantha_ , there came a softly muttered, "Thank _God_ ," from the other room.

Victoria was the one who heard it and she tensed a little and looked towards the kitchen, unnoticed by Sam as they were incredibly immersed in their story. Owen appeared in the door to the living room, slightly out of breath and clutching his phone in his hand. "Guys," he said softly.

Sam froze and turned abruptly towards their brother, causing Victoria to loose her position and her yelp was ignored as Sam asked, "Owen? What's wrong?"

"It's over."

Victoria pushed herself up and stared at Owen. "What?" she asked.

Owen looked as though he didn't know whether to cry or laugh. "They got him. They got 'im. It's all over."

The words took a moment to sink in and when they did, Sam leapt up, laughing hysterically, and pounced on Owen. They were hugging tightly, rocking back and forth, jumping occasionally as they slowly spun around. Owen kept on repeating, "It's over. We're safe now. Oh God, it's over."

Victoria looked to Canada, tears in her eyes, she was so happy. They may be able to work efficiently under red alert, but the terror and anxiety of not knowing if or when they would be attacked again was something Victoria hadn't wanted to ever experience again. "It's over, Matt!" she screamed.

Owen and Sam pulled away from each other. Sam's hands went to cup Owen's face. "I could kiss you," they said.

"Please don't!" Owen said, half-laughing half-crying.

Victoria's head tipped backwards and she pushed herself off of the couch and stumbled over to her siblings. She caught herself on their arms and they immediately shifted to help support her. "Oh, Justice will be served and the battle will rage!" she sang.

"This big dog will fight when you rattle his cage," Owen joined in.

"You'll be sorry that you messed with the U.S. of A," Sam crooned.

"'Cause we'll put a boot in your ass. It's the American way!" they all screamed together. They were off tune, and none of them could sing for their lives, but they were happy. They were safe and it was over. They were okay for just one more day.

~*~

"Stop fidgeting."

"I _hate_ ties."

"You look handsome in a tie."

"I don't want to wear a tie."

"You're just nervous about seeing a certain someone again~"

Sam glowered at their sister's teasing. "Am not."

"Are too."

"Am-"

Alfred snapped his fingers in front of their noses. "Hey, cool it. Let's go. We're here."

"I still don't know why we had to wait until the next world meeting," Sam muttered as the three of them unfolded themselves from the confines of an European taxi.

Alfred just grinned. "What? Didn't you used to say how you wanted to visit France again some day?"

"That was Vicky. The Paris _I_ remember was demolished by bombs."

Victoria rolled her eyes. "All the more reason to make good memories now, _oui_?"

"At least we're not in Berlin," Sam muttered lowly as the three of them entered the conference room, the bags they brought bumping into their sides as they walked. The conference room was filled with a majority of the nations milling around as they waited for the meeting to commence. Alfred muttered something about going to talk to Germany and instructed the two of them to get two extra chairs.

They set up the chairs behind Alfred's assigned seats, the bags the two carried resting in the space between the two seats. Victoria looked like she was sucking on a lemon as she studied the nations. "It's a little scary, isn't it?" she asked in Narragansett.

Sam turned towards her and frowned slightly. "I suppose. Slightly intimidating."

Alfred came back from his discussion with Germany and flashed the two of them a smile before sitting between Benjamín and Matt. The meeting was about to start.

Alfred had always told them it was boring at the meetings whenever they bothered him about it, and for once he wasn't exaggerating. Maybe it was because the two of them didn't have any reason to actually pay attention as the other nations prattled on about international disputes and trade. But they evidentially had fun ignoring the occasional curious glances and talking quietly in Narrangansett and pointing out the nations that acted just like one of their states.

Finally, just before lunch break would be called, Alfred stood up and made his way to the front of the room, Victoria and Sam following a little later, as they had to grab their bags. Alfred stood at the front of the room and cleared his throat as Victoria and Sam stand at attention on either side of him, their eyes flickering down the assorted nations and mapping out their paths.

Alfred smirked at the nations, but his eyes and stance was guarded and on alert. "You won't need to take notes on this.

"I am here today with two of my closest subordinates-" Sam resisted the urge to roll their eyes "-in response to the latest conference that crashed and burned when my nation was bombed. Two, or rather it ended up being three of my states took my place here while I went to scope it out, followed by three other nations." Here Alfred paused and shot an I'm-still-not-too-happy-you-decided-to-follow-me-and-made-me-have-to-tell-you-things smile towards the two smug looking European nations. "According to my sources," he continued to the rest of the room, "New Jersey, along with Hawaii, basically explained our national policy of keeping the states out of the international affairs. Now, after today, they are still going to stay out of international affairs.

"New Jersey told you about the drink that was distributed to any nation that ever had contact with one of the states. Well, Connecticut-" Sam saluted the crowd with two fingers "-and Rhode Island-" Victoria smiled tensely and only with her mouth, keeping her lips sealed together "-are going to bring around a flask to everyone whose memories were altered."

Alfred nodded at them to begin as he continued to explain that the draught would not harm anyone in any way, and if they didn't believe him, England and France had already taken it and they seemed fine.

Sam had the original set of memories and Victoria was handling the "oops-I-accidentally-spilled-the-beans-to-another-nation-sorry-Sam-can-you-fix-it?" bottles. She would be doing much more cris-crossing while Sam could simply stay in the European area of the conference room.

All they had to do was the read the names and pass them out.

Sweden; Sam had to bite down their smile imagining Alaska standing next to the silent and impassive nation as they handed him his memories back.

Netherlands; he thanked Sam when they gave the flask to him. Sam had to fight their snickering as they imagined Netherland's face once they regained the memories of them as a colony.

Scotland; he ignored it.

Ireland; he asked if Sam was confused and didn't seem to believe Sam when they shook their head no.

Spain; he made a face at the color, but thanked Sam as well. Sam didn't know the memories that Florida had asked to be taken away, but from Florida's intense blush at the meeting when Alfred told the states that they were going to be repairing the memories of the nations, it would be really embarrassing.

Russia; he frowned at it too, but popped the top off and sniffed at it.

Prussia; he stared at Sam intently, ignoring the flask. Sam balked a little and a blush stained their cheeks even though Sam totally does not still have a crush on a dead nation no-shut-up-voice-inside-their-head-that-sounds-too-much-like-Victoria. Sam eventually turned away and coughed, rubbing angrily at the redness on their cheeks.

The reached for the last bottle and pulled it out to read the tag. They froze in their tracks and had to fight not to look around. Since when was that in there? When had-

Prussia. Prussia had brought him over for one of the last few battles. They had wiped their memories at the same time.

"Sam?" Alfred asked in the front of the room, voice tense with familiar undertones of tell-me-who-or-what-is-bothering-you-so-I-can-make-it-better. Sam just stared up at him.

"Um..." Then they put the bottle back into the bag and quickly spelled out the empire's name in ASL. Victoria's mouth dropped open and she just stared at Sam before her eyes flickered to the empire and then back to Sam, looking like a deer in headlights. Alfred was staring at Matt who was just shrugging. Sam swallowed hard and bit their lip.

Matt looked to Sam. "Break it."

Alfred nodded in agreement.

Victoria balked at that and stared horrified at Sam. "We can't do that!"

Sam disagreed. There was nothing of importance that Holy Roman Empire needed to remember. Maybe just Sam's and Victoria's likeness, but that would be all. He hadn't spent that much time with them and even if he had kept his memories, dissolution notwithstanding, he most likely would have forgotten them.

"Vic-Rhode Island," Alfred said sternly. Then he looked to Sam. "Just get rid of it."

Victoria looked as though she was going to argue some more, but Sam quietly said, "They aren't necessary."

And now England was standing up, as he was the only other nation that could follow their broken conversation. He looked to Sam and then to Victoria. "Whose memories aren't necessary? All memories are necessary."

"These ones aren't," Sam insisted. "They're just silly memories."

"Silly memories are often the most important," England argued.

Sam bristled and was ready to snap back at him in anger, but Germany stood at that time, forcefully calm. Physically he was between Sam and England as Sam had not moved much from when he had given Prussia his memories, but he seemed to question himself as he turned to Sam. _He looks like Ryan_ , Sam thought.

"Mr...."

"No."

A pause. "I beg your pardon."

"Mx. Jones, if you must. Otherwise, I respond to Sam or CT. Connecticut or Samuel will get you a kick in the balls."

"I'm not sure I understand," Germany said slowly, staring down at the tense state.

Sam rolled their eyes. "It's not that hard to understand. I am not Mr. Jones, I am not Mrs. or Ms. Jones, I am not Mr. Connecticut, I am not Mrs. or Ms. Connecticut." Sam glared at Victoria as she snickered at the last term of address. "I only respond to Mr. Jones when I am in Hartford, but I'll be damned if I let you call me that here. Mx. Jones is how you may address me. If you forget that, Sam will be sufficient. Simply Connecticut or Samuel are completely out of the question. Do you understand?"

Germany blinked at them for a while before speaking. "What seems to be the problem?"

"There is no war in Ba Sing Se."

Victoria snickered again, on the opposite side of the room, as she made her way through the rest of her bottles that she had. Germany blinked again and leaned away. "What?"

"Hmm? I said it's something that doesn't concern you, _Germany_ ," they said, emphasizing the name.

Germany was silent before asking, "Who does it concern?"

Sam took a step away. "No one you would know."

Germany looked ready to ask again, but Alfred shouted at the top of his lungs, "Wowee, look at the time! That's lunch break. Woo, let's go."

Sam marched over to Alfred before Germany could say anything.

~*~

"Will you stop _that_?" England demanded.

The four North Americans' hands dropped into their lap and they blinked down the table at England in badly faked innocence. England scowled at them and then glared at France quickly before glancing at the four of them again.

"Can you understand them?"

France shook his head.

Victoria held up a hand, as she looked to America. The back of her hand was facing away from her and her pointer finger stretched up to the sky and then down again. America looked astonished and held out a hand with his thumb and little finger extended and moved it between the two of them. Sam hid their smile in their sandwich and then shook one hand rapidly by their shoulder, almost as though it were on fire.

England growled. The four of them had been carrying on like that for the better part of the lunch break, hands flying fast in front of them and only small exclamations like each other's names or "no" and "absolutely not", escaping the otherwise silent group.

"What is the big deal about that bottle anyway?" he snapped.

Canada blinked up at him and looked back down again before making a 'c' shape with one hand and then his first two fingers tapped against his thumb twice as he moved his hand to the right. Sam gasped and aggressively crossed the fingers on their right hand, thumb touching the knuckle of their ring finger. Their hand then formed into a fist with just their littlest finger sticking up. Victoria shook her head. She laced her fingers together and moved them in a circle in front of her chest. America turned to Canada, tapping his upper chest with a fist. And then it went around again, until Victoria looked right back at Sam and mimicked Canada's pervious movements.

Sam threw their hands up in the air. "Why do I have to tell them everything?"

That was the first full sentence in the last hour that he could understand. England crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

Victoria moved her hands in a fast sequence, ending with a rather complicated dance with her right hand. Sam rolled their eyes. "You know we can use this," they placed their hands, palms in towards them, on top of each other vertically before wiggling their fingers. "We all know who it really is."

"We still have to spell out some of their names," Victoria said, her hand moving again.

"Why don't you just go ask _him_?" Canada asked. The three of them stared at Sam, one smug the other two honestly curious.

England still felt very much out of the conversation even if they were continuing it in a language he could understand. He glared at the two of them and sat back until they decided to include him in the conversation. France chuckled lowly, almost as though he knew what England was doing. The four at the end of the table didn't notice.

"Because of reasons," Sam snapped and focused on eating their food.

"Then I'll ask him," Victoria said. "I'm sure we'll have _lots_ to talk about."

Sam glared up at their sister. They then shook a finger in front of her face. "No no."

"Well you should ask him," America said. "It is his brother, afterall."

"Who?" France asked lightly, drawing the attention of the other four.

They stared until Victoria said, "Prussia. We need to ask him what to do with Holy Roman Empire's memories."

~*~

He still didn't believe this shit. That little girl with her tattoo hadn't enough proof. No nation had more than one personification. Or so he'd thought until he remembered Sam. But now it seemed impossible that he could have forgotten all of the very potent memories that Sam and her sister were in. Or maybe it was just because he had finally revisited those memories after two hundred years of just ignoring them.

Or maybe Sam had been able to wipe his memory and alter them after all. She was a really powerful being. He'd gone over to help, expecting a fledging country with little to no history. But one look at Sam and her sister and their expressive eyes and he could see the centuries of history that their land held, history that they didn't know about or couldn't access. But they were powerful; their very bodies immersed in buckets of magic and power. They hadn't needed his help, just his guidance.

And his little _mausi_ was a grown teen, more masculine than he remembered. When she had told him that she didn't want to be called Samantha or Samuel, he'd only wanted to help her. He remembered Hungary and her difficulty understanding what exactly she was. And if Sam had had to go through that alone....

He wasn't supposed to think about that. Those were unawesome thoughts.

Now he was watching the two of them, Sam and Road Island, as they glanced towards him and away many many times until Road Island rolled her eyes, grabbed Sam's hand and dragged her over to him.

He raised an eyebrow at the two of them. "Ja?"

Road Island smiled sweetly. "Do you remember me?"

"Ja, but not your human name."

"Viktoria," she said, holding out a hand to shake as though they were first meeting. He shook her hand.

"You're nicer than your other sister. She just yelled at me. What can I do for you?" he asked.

Viktoria pulled a flask out of her pocket, exactly like the one he had downed with his lunch. "We wanted to know what to do with this."

Prussia's eyes widened as he read the scrawled handwriting on the side of the bottle, half faded with time. At his silence, Viktoria continued.

"What you guys drank wasn't your memories. It was a potion meant to undo the cloaking the first potion did. And if we give it to your brother, we don't know if it'll unearth the other memories that were suppressed and if it will, that decision isn't ours to make."

"Oh...um... I'll uh take it. Just in case."

Sam turned away and muttered something under her breath. Viktoria, who had heard it most likely, rolled her eyes and the two of them turned to walk away.

"Hey!" Prussia said. "Sam."

Sam tensed up too fast and too much and Prussia felt bad immediately. Viktoria sent a smirk at Sam before pushing her towards Prussia. Sam turned around, face red and looking as though she wanted to be anywhere but there right then. "Yes?" she said.

"Did you figure it out?'

"Did I-?" then she cut herself off and mouthed an 'oh'. She nodded and looked at him shyly, looking exactly like she had when she asked for him to call her Sam and only Sam. "I did."

He smiled. "That's great. Do you want to tell me? You don't have to..."

Sam stepped closer shyly. She tucked an errant strand of her hair behind her ear. "Uh...I'm actually...I actually have no gender."

...Well that's not what he was expecting. He almost laughed and chided her for the joke, but she was standing as though fearing that response, and hoping to all above that she wouldn't get it. He tilted his head to one side. "I'm not sure I understand, _mausi_."

He didn't miss her light sigh of relief. Sam blushed and smiled softly. "You haven't called me that in two hundred years," she murmured, more to herself than anything. "We can talk about this later, okay? I don't really want to do this in the middle of a conference."

He smiled. "Okay _mausi_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title is Pink in English. Pink symbolizes caring, tenderness, and acceptance.


End file.
